The Price of Eternity
by Robin Birdie
Summary: Magic wasn't real. Everyone knew that. That didn't stop the visions and dreams, 'memories' of a world that couldn't possibly exist, and it didn't stop them from thinking him mad. They were hiding something: it was more than just his imagination. He knew it. (Hiatus)
1. Chapter 1

' _The boy is clearly unstable!'_

' _Simply for taking a train? Nonsense. I, myself, quite enjoy train rides.'_

' _Albus, I think Severus is right,' said a third voice. 'The boy must have saved for_ years _to afford such a trip on a schoolboy's pocket money. It was just lucky that I was on the train from King's Cross to Glasgow that day; I dread to think what could have happened.'_

' _I still maintain that many children run away,' replied Albus. 'It is best that we do not pull at loose threads, lest the tapestry unravel. He is back where he is safe, which is all that matters.'_

' _Very well,' snapped Severus. 'Pray tell, what caused him to run away in the first place?'_

' _Ah, how strange for you to show concern for – what was it – an attention seeker?'_

' _Attention seeker or not, he_ knows _things, Albus._ ' 

* * *

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"I can't believe you ran away, mate."

Harry looked up at Ron with a slight blush. It was hard not to be embarrassed about his actions, especially as he couldn't fully explain them, but Ron wore an expression of something akin to admiration, which was a reaction he couldn't quite process. The redheaded boy sat next to him at the long kitchen table, where he stabbed at the bowl of porridge before him in an offhanded and distracted manner. There was a smear of mud on his cheeks, as well as grass stains on his jeans, and the football next to his feet rolled in small circles.

There was a sudden quiet about the kitchen, as everyone tried to listen in that 'surreptitious' manner that only the most conspicuous of people ever managed. Mrs Weasley took a pan off the stove so that the bubbling didn't overwhelm the sound of his reply, whilst Mr Weasley turned to face the fireplace so that no one could accuse him of eavesdropping, and Sirius -? Well, Sirius didn't believe in subtle. He wore a grin that matched Ron's in terms of amusement, whilst he folded his newspaper in half at the head of the table, where he bit into an apple in an overly casual manner. It was almost like a show.

"I – er – didn't mean to," said Harry lamely.

"How can you not mean to runaway?" Ron asked. "I mean, like, I've thought about it a few times, because it can be a real nightmare in our house, but I never would! It's not easy, but it's nice having family and stuff to depend on. Don't tell Fred and George that, though."

Harry gave a nervous smile, as he looked down at the bowl of cereal before him. It was already a soggy consistency that made it very unappealing, but years of being raised by the Dursley family taught him to appreciate all the small things, and so he wouldn't let it go to waste no matter how it tasted. The long sleeve of Dudley's old jumper got in the way, as he tried to eat, but he ignored it simply so that he could have something to focus upon.

"Yeah, well, it's different for you, isn't it?"

"Not really," said Ron. "I mean, my parents are pretty good and all . . ."

"Right," replied Harry. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that the Dursleys are all that bad, but you don't know what it was _like_ growing up. I just – I just had this image in my head and it was so _real_ , Ron! I thought if I could find Platform 9 ¾ that I could just –"

There was a sharp rattle of pots and pans by Mrs Weasley, who emitted a mild curse under her breath as some boiling water splashed on her hand, and Sirius seemed to have turned a strange shade of white behind his newspaper. Harry slumped in his chair. It figured that the adults wouldn't want to talk about his running away, as even his aunt was devastated and overcome with worry, but it was hard to ignore how his uncle muttered that he should have stayed lost or how at school Draco teased him from across the hall.

"I know there _isn't_ a Platform 9 ¾, but the dreams are so real and writing them down only helps so much. I'm actually starting to get these flashes when I'm awake, too, like daydreams only much more vivid. I saw these robed monsters the other day . . . they made me pass out and I awoke in an infirmary. I think chocolate scares them away."

"You mean you passed out in your dream, right?" Ron stabbed at his porridge as if it somehow personally offended him. "That must have been scary. Still, if all you're looking for is a platform, why get on the train? We were all dragged her whilst McGonagall brought you back, so we got to hear all the details. Fred and George were listening in at the door; apparently she was really peeved, like she was swearing and everything."

"Can you blame her?" Harry asked. "I got lectured the whole four hours back about how a kid my age shouldn't travel alone, whilst people around kept staring at me. I'm just glad I got to spend the holidays with Sirius; my aunt still keeps crying about how I must hate her."

' _Well,'_ said a new voice. ' _What else is she to think?'_

Ron rolled his eyes, as Hermione slipped through the kitchen almost silently and took a seat opposite them. It was nice to see her, especially as she was due to go skiing with her parents over Christmas itself, and he cherished the time that he spent with both her and Ron. The thirteen-year-old girl was dressed nicely in a pink cardigan and matching top, whilst her bushy hair fell about her shoulders in large waves, and the way her large front teeth peeked out made her look rather adorable. Hermione was attractive in an unconventional way.

The adults milled about at their end of the kitchen, whilst the three of them huddled together to talk in lower voices, and Harry – as he raised a hand unconsciously to his scar – wondered how they were still friends even in his dreams. If dreams were a simple fantasy and a desire, it would make sense that he would inject his best friends into those thoughts, but those creatures . . . the Dementors . . . no one in their right mind would imagine something like that, not unless they were repressing some masochistic desires. He knew that he should probably talk to someone about it, but they already thought he was mentally ill as things stood.

"Where did you even get the money from?" Hermione asked.

"My parents left me a trust fund, didn't they?" Harry answered. "Sirius drops by the bank for me, because I live too far from London to get to it easily, and he brings up some money with him on his visits. I just asked him to pick some extra up."

"That's incredibly irresponsible of him, Harry. Didn't he at least ask why you needed that money? It must have been at least one-hundred-and-fifty pounds for a journey that far; I remember that my parents said it would have been cheaper to get a flight there, so it must be around that much. Why Glasgow, anyway? Do you know someone there?"

"I don't know _anyone_ there, but I – I have memories of Scotland." Harry mumbled and buried his head into his hands. "I know, I know! I can't have memories of a place I've never been, but you have to believe me! In my head . . . there's this massive story, sort of running alongside real-life, and every day I wake up with memories of a day in that other world, the story . . . the school in my writing -? It was in Scotland, I know it was."

"It may be best not to tell the adults that," whispered Hermione. "I don't know why this is happening to you, but I do know a lot of people wouldn't understand it. It might be good to think about counselling, just in case, but I suppose we could look into it . . . maybe investigate? If we can find where 'Hogwarts' may be, we may find answers."

"Not if it's all in his head, you won't," said Ron. "I bet Sirius would agree."

"Yes, but Sirius also gave him a small fortune without asking why."

' _Sirius, I think your ears must be burning_.'

Harry looked up to see Remus enter. Tonks and Ginny followed soon after, where they took a seat at the opposite end of the table near to Sirius, and Mr Weasley smiled as he placed some plates of food before the two of them. It always felt strange to Harry to see Remus; he dressed a lot like the other adults, in clothes that looked almost like robes from a fairy tale, only his were darned and somewhat shabby. He also looked older than his years.

This was a man whose hair was beginning to turn grey, and whose skin held lines that should have only been on someone fifteen years his senior, and the thin moustache didn't quite suit him in many respects, simply as it aged him all the more. The scars always fascinated Harry across his features, as they bore a story all of their own, one in which Harry wasn't quite privy to and was desperate to uncover. Sirius once teased that it was a wolf attack, to which Mrs Weasley slapped him upside the head and Remus rolled his eyes, and Harry always wondered whether there was a grain of truth somehow.

Today, Remus looked worse for wear. He was incredibly pale, as if he were sick once again, and he moved with the slow gestures of an almost elderly man, which made him seem considerably pained and filled with aches. Tonks made a joking comment about 'the time of the month', to which Remus raised an eyebrow at her and walked to sit opposite her and next to Sirius, who touched his shoulder and squeezed affectionately. They shared an intimacy that proved them to be long-time friends, which was almost enviable.

"Are we going to talk about what happened the other week?" Remus asked.

The way that Ginny's ears perked up told Harry that she was certainly curious, not least because her mother often excluded her from 'grown up' discussions. It felt like most of Ginny's information came from the gossip of her brothers and Hermione, which meant she was usually the last to know an awful lot, and so she was likely grateful to be sitting at the side of the table with the most talkative adults about: Arthur, Sirius and Tonks.

"It can wait until after the holidays," said Tonks kindly.

"That's hardly fair," interrupted Arthur. "It's not Remus' fault that he's unwell. Besides, he's right that we need to talk about things, although . . . maybe it can wait until the children are in bed, hmm? Severus and Minerva mentioned a few things to me . . . _past_ things."

"Aw, come on, Arthur! Minerva still lives in the past, while Severus seems to think that Harry's crazy! I'm not saying they aren't worth listening to, but just that it makes more sense to wait for everyone to calm down, maybe talk about it with Harry properly. You know, I ran away around his age, too. I got so fed up that I took a broom and I –"

"Tonks! Not around the children!" Molly chastised.

"Oh, right, sorry about that!"

Tonks' cheeks flushed a deep red. It was normal for a lot of conversations to go along the same lines, where certain adults – especially Tonks – would be told off for saying inappropriate things, and it made sense that they wouldn't want the younger generation to follow the example of the old. Still, there was something that always struck Harry as a little . . . _off_. He was certain that they were keeping secrets from him, but he just couldn't work out what exactly. All he knew is that his aunt freaked out and told him to never ask such questions, that he was a normal boy and lived a normal life, and there were no secrets.

"Still, it can wait, can't it?" Tonks asked.

"I'm not all too sure it can," said Molly. "I have to agree with Remus. _Now, don't give me that look_! It's something we all need to discuss. Arthur has a point, though; we can wait until the children have gone up, as it may be worth talking to some of the others, too."

"What's the point in calling the Order, if we don't even _need_ an Order? I'm not saying that it isn't a good thing, but Harry's young and he's got a good imagination and he's adventurous. I was the same way; you can't tell me that you've never snuck out to go exploring, maybe searched for secret hallways and forbidden items. What's he going to find, anyway?"

"If he won't find anything, there's no point _looking_ for anything, is there?"

"Well, half the fun is in the chase," interrupted Sirius.

The look that Molly shot him was quite dark. There was a very strange friendship between those two adults in particular; it seemed that Sirius was easily bored, enough that he sought out drama and tried to act like a father to Harry, which Molly took as him being a bad influence and exerting an authority that he didn't possess. They often stood at loggerheads, as both were too stubborn to change or back down, and yet there was a mutual respect there that kept them civil for the most part and able to spend time together.

Sirius sent a conspiratorial wink down the table, which made Harry smile to see. He knew – from years of experience – that Molly was right on one count: his godfather saw him as a copy of his father. It was exactly what Snape did at school, only paradoxically opposite, and Harry wondered how his father would have reacted to that kind of gesture. Would James have laughed and winked back? Would James have rolled his eyes and glared? He wanted to know whether his father was the sort to relish in rule breaking or accept limitations, but a part of him knew that he would never find out. He instead looked down sheepishly at his hands.

"Don't teach that boy to go _looking_ for trouble," snapped Molly.

The older woman slapped him upside his head, which caused Remus to smirk behind his hand and Tonks to laugh, and even Ron let out a small chuckle. Hermione and Arthur seemed less inclined to find it all so amusing, whilst Ginny focussed more on the reactions of people around her, and it was clear – from Sirius' expression alone – that they were hiding something from him . . . from all of them. He wondered what trouble he could possibly find. Nothing could compare to the basilisk from his nightmares, or the three-headed dog.

"Why don't you three go upstairs?" Molly asked kindly.

Harry jumped from his thoughts. He looked down the table to see that Molly was looking at him rather nicely, whilst her balding husband gave a nervous smile, and Remus and Tonks were locked in a whispered debate that Ginny desperately tried to eavesdrop upon. There wasn't really much arguing with Mrs Weasley, not that he wanted to argue in any case, but there was something stern behind her eyes that betrayed her sincerity.

"Aw, come on, Mum," whined Ron. "We've _just_ got up!"

"Then you have plenty of energy to tidy your rooms," said Molly. "Take your sister with you, too, and tell George and Fred to get out of bed! I don't want them spending the whole holidays conspiring together out of sight! Now scat. I need to talk to Sirius and Remus."

"Great," muttered Ron. "Why don't we take breakfast up, while we're at it?"

"That's a good idea. Here you go. Take this to Percy."

Mrs Weasley shoved a plate full of sandwiches into the hands of her youngest son, who looked at her as if she handed her a plate of insects for his owl, and the look failed to get any sympathy from the adults, who all seemed eager to get on with their conversation. Hermione gently nudged Harry and led him out into the hall, whilst Ginny and Ron followed with grumpy faces and clear pouts, and – the moment the door closed – sounds of raised voices could be heard almost immediately. Ron gave a click of his tongue.

"Typical, all the interesting stuff gets said when we're away. It's always the same."

"I'm sure we're not missing anything important," said Hermione.

Harry felt as uncertain as she sounded.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"It just isn't _working_!"

Harry waved the stick of wood over the Bunsen burner. There was a good flame on the end, which was getting scarily closer and closer to his fingers, but the burner itself refused to catch alight and simply sat there almost mockingly before him. The rubber tube was connected to the gas tap, which was turned on and seemed to be fine, and yet he was the only student in the old classroom that struggled with such a simple task. This was always one of his least favourite subjects; it felt like every lesson brought with it a new way to make him feel stupid.

The classroom was the oldest one in the entire building, which didn't help matters in the slightest, and he wondered why none of the teachers bothered to refurbish it. There were seven long rows of wooden benches, which made it impossible to interact with anyone aside from one's neighbour, but they _did_ have the benefit of making it easier to pass notes, as the front of each bench was blocked with a wooden panel. Harry also noticed the 'whiteboard' was actually a blackboard, the only one he had ever seen in his life, only it was insanely tall and had a bar across it to roll it around, effectively doubling what one could write.

He sometimes resented that the younger students were stuck in the listed Victorian building, whilst the older students were treated to the state-of-the-art facilities of the annex. It didn't help that the windows were set incredibly high, so that the only thing he could see were the tops of the trees and some sky beyond, and he sometimes suspected that Snape liked it that way. There was absolutely nothing else for the students to focus upon except their work, and the dingy old classroom was the perfect setting for that. He hated it.

"Have you turned the gas on?" Hermione whispered.

"Of course I have," he snapped. "See."

Harry reached out to push down the tap and turn it back and forth, until he finally settled it on the 'on' position, but there was still no flame. There _was_ a flame on one particular place, however, which was on the stick he still held; it burned down to his fingertips and caused Harry to curse a little too loudly, as he dropped it onto the top of the bench. The stool behind him was sent hurtling backwards, as he jumped in surprise, and Draco began to laugh in that horribly condescending way of his from the bench in front of them.

"Sir," Draco called out, "Potter burned himself!"

Ron – on Harry's right – tried to kick Draco from behind, but he apparently forgot that these benches were blocked in from the front, so his shoe collided with the wood in a rather painful manner, which caused Draco to bellow out an even louder laugh than before. There was a loud and heavy sigh from the front of the classroom, where a certain someone stood next to Neville and Blaise. Harry knew what was about to happen, so he simply pulled his stool back up and dropped onto it in a rather petulant manner. It could only go one way.

He watched as Snape strode along the aisle towards his workspace. The older teacher looked different from the version of Snape he saw in his dreams, although there were some similarities that were hard to miss. He was a round-shouldered man, with a strangely angular face and body, and he sported a hooked nose that a lot of the students teased him about behind his back. The most popular terms for him seemed to be: 'raven', 'dungeon bat', and 'greasy elephant'. That was the thing, though: his hair wasn't all that greasy. It was lank and black and seemed to just hang off his face, but it wasn't as bad looking as the 'other' Snape.

"Potter, do you deliberately seek to be as dense as possible?"

Snape stood to the side of him. There wasn't enough space between the benches for him to walk between, and he had a habit of liking to loom over students so that his robes billowed out, as if he sought to intimidate them as much as possible. He could loom from the sides and from the front and back rows, but not to the students strategically placed in the middle. It was a little disconcerting how his black eyes narrowed upon Harry darkly.

"Do you need a first-aider?" Snape asked.

"No," said Harry. "I can just run it under some water."

"A shame. I would have much enjoyed an excuse to see you out of my class," murmured Snape in that dry tone that only he could manage. "Regardless, it helps that one turn _on_ the gas when trying to _light_ a Bunsen burner. It will make the world of difference."

The teacher reached out and turned the tap, although he did a certain movement that reminded Harry this was the 'trick' tap. It was safe to use, but it needed a very specific movement and a lot of strength to turn it on, especially when Harry was in no frame of mind to remember such trivial details. The holidays were so perfect that it seemed unfair to be back in school, and he couldn't wait until the clock ticked to half-three so that he could leave. It just broke his soul a little to realise he would have to be back at half-eight the next day.

"That's bollocks," muttered Ron. "How was he meant to know the tap's broke?"

"Really, Weasley, you must be as blind as you are inept," said Snape. "The tap is obviously _not_ broken, if I am able to release the gas from it. Nevertheless, without a flame to light the burner, it is too dangerous to allow the gas to run, making this whole exercise pointless in the extreme." Snape turned off the gas. "Detention to Weasley for foul language. Zero points to Potter for the inability to follow simple instructions. The rest of you are dismissed."

"He could go and get another flame from the front," said Hermione.

"When class is dismissed? I think not."

Ron cursed under his breath, as Snape stalked his way down the aisle. The teacher stopped at the front of the class, where he turned off his original burner and began to observe the students departure, and already there was a sea of pupils packing away their stationery and personal items, as they fought to get out of the door. Hermione gave a sigh and collected their equipment, which she put away, and Ron simply kicked at the floor and waited for both his friends, already excited for football tryouts later that day. Harry scratched his neck nervously.

"You guys go on ahead," he said. "I'll catch up."

Ron raised an eyebrow and looked to the front desk before the blackboard. There was Snape bent over a pile of marking, where he sat so close that his nose practically touched the paper, and his pen moved with an incredible speed that was almost enviable. The class was pretty much empty by this point, although Draco stopped to trade some very minor small-talk with Hermione on his way out, and then pulled a face at Ron as he made his way out of the classroom towards his personal group of idiots. Hermione rejoined them quickly.

"It's home-time, Harry," argued Ron. "Let's just go."

"No, honestly, I really need to talk to Snape about something." Harry smiled and gave a shrug. "He'll probably send me on my way, so I'll run and catch up, I'll probably be with you before you even make it to the dormitories. Sirius won't mind me being a bit late."

"If you're sure, Harry," said Hermione. "I just hate getting the Tube home alone."

"Least you get to go home," muttered Ron. "I'm stuck here."

"Well, let's get going. See you later, Harry."

They left with a warm wave and a brief hug. The fact that Ron lived so far away was one that always made Harry and Hermione feel a spark of guilt, because it meant that he was left in the dormitories during term-time, whereas they were able to be with their families. Harry enjoyed the weekdays spent with Sirius, as well as the weekends taking the train to be with his aunt and cousin, and he couldn't imagine being away from his family for so long. He watched them leave and tried not to feel too bad about staying behind.

He watched as the classroom door swung closed, before he swung his backpack over his shoulder and made his way to the front. The light was low outside and came in through the windows strong, so that he felt almost blinded and was forced to turn at an angle to protect his eyes, and Snape – with a low hiss of breath – appeared to resent sitting in the shadow of a pupil. He sat up straight, as he slammed his pen onto the table and glared at Harry. There was a curious glimmer in his eyes, although Harry was more distracted by the oily and badly kept skin, as well as the strange tattoo that peaked out slightly underneath Snape's sleeve.

"May I help you, Mr Potter?"

The way that Snape stared always irked Harry slightly, simply because it was like he was trying to see into his mind and break his defences, but that was impossible. In the world that Harry saw in his mind, which he wrote religiously onto paper each night, he hadn't seen any evidence of mind-reading even there, and yet a part of his mind niggled at the notion until it drove him to insanity and forced him to look away. Snape rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, before he folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.

"I believe this is – as they say – 'home-time'."

"I know, but I was kind of hoping I could get my book back," said Harry.

"You mean the book in which you maliciously malign my character?" Snape rolled his eyes and pulled a wad of paper from his desk. "I would ask that you not write in class again, lest you wish for me to read through your work. Tell me, what inspired these words?"

"Er, it's just something from my head, Sir," muttered Harry. "Hermione says it's best not to talk about it, but it's kind of . . . complicated. I tried to draw some pictures before, like of the uniform and the classrooms and Diagon Alley, but I haven't really much artistic talent. The best thing I could do was to write it all down instead. It's so real in my head. I know that Sirius isn't a convict, just as I know you aren't all bad, but in my head . . ."

"This is why I have argued that you have a psychiatric evaluation." Snape shoved the paper at Harry with an aggressive gesture. "It is strange to me that a boy can 'invent' an entire method of magical transport, 'create' intricate rules to a magical sport, and even map out a fictional place to such a detailed extent. Is this why you sought to go to Scotland?"

"Do you expect a serious answer, Sir? If I reply 'yes', you'll just use it as proof that I need to see a doctor. If I reply 'no', you'll accuse me of lying and cut the conversation short. I'll just say that Hogwarts was protected by magic . . . I couldn't find it even if I wanted to."

"Unless magic does not exist and no spells protect it."

"Yeah, but then it wouldn't exist at all."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. It was a very tense relationship with Snape, so that the older man often spent much of his time criticising and bullying Harry, but there was also something deeper there that he couldn't quite decipher. He heard that Snape was friends with his parents, that – for a while – his mother even wanted Snape to be his godfather, and so he liked to think that there was some desire to protect him, maybe something paternal, but it was a foolish thought and likely more complex than he imagined.

It was one more secret after another; he wondered why Snape _wasn't_ his godfather, just as he wondered why no one ever spoke about his parents, and he wondered why some of his teachers seemed to know Sirius a little too well and spent so much time with him. Snape knew something. Snape was suspicious. The questions about why lingered in the air, as the older man glared with his dark eyes at Harry and let out a long exhale of breath.

"I have been told not to talk about such matters with you," said Snape.

Harry felt his heart sink. The classroom felt so much colder suddenly, which wasn't helped by its lack of heating and high windows that were single-paned, and he wondered whether he would go insane before discovering the truth. He watched as Snape slowly stood up and walked around his desk to the rows of large cupboards that lined the far wall, just underneath the windows, and – from the one closest to his storeroom door – he retrieved several books. They looked old and battered, as if thumbed through hundreds of times.

"They did not say that I could not suggest some reading material," he added.

He handed the books to Harry rather flippantly, as if tossing him some freshly marked homework or returning to him a confiscated item, and Harry looked at each one with a curious expression. The first was a book about 'Quantum Suicide', which made his head spin to look at, whilst the others seemed to be books about people he had never even heard about: Tegmark, Everett, and Deutsch. He could barely understand half the words on a quick flick through the pages, let alone what the point would be in reading them.

"I would also suggest 'Hamlet' from the library," added Snape.

"Why?" Harry asked. "I don't get what these have to do with anything."

"I will simply say that some focus too much on cause and not effect. It does not do to dwell on the disease itself at the cost of relieving the symptoms. 'Hamlet' espouses a philosophy to which I feel you will relate, whilst these books themselves delve into something deeper that may hint at why you experience the fantasies that you do. Read them at your leisure."

"You could just _tell_ me what you're thinking. It'd be easier."

"Yes, but you wouldn't understand it."

It took all of Harry's strength not to roll his eyes. He simply swung down his backpack to shove the books inside, as he mentally tried to work out when he would have time to read any of them, especially with football practise and homework. There was something strange about being given anything by this man, enough that he didn't want to seem ungrateful or risk provoking his anger again, and so he gave a sigh and turned to go home.

"I ask one thing of you," said Snape.

Harry paused where he stood, as he looked down at the old and scratched floorboards beneath him, and he wondered what catch there could be for the help of someone whom he both admired and hated in the same breath. There was no denying that Snape was a brilliant man, but he was not a patient man or a man that could be described as 'selfless' in the least, and so – as Harry turned around to look at him – he felt a spark of suspicion that darkened his mood. He sighed and tried not to sound too petulant when he asked:

"What?"

"You must tell me should these fantasies stop," said Snape. "If you ask me why, I shall know you to be the blithering imbecile that I believe. These stories are written through your protagonist's perspective, as such I am curious as to when your protagonist ceases to exist."

"If the main character is myself, why would I imagine myself dying?"

"Why indeed? That is a question for a later time."

Snape lifted his hand to gesture him to leave:

"You may go now."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

' _I borrowed another book from Remus.'_

' _What's the point?' Ron asked. 'Don't we already have enough?'_

' _Well, yes and no,' said Hermione. 'This book is specifically about the theories of Edward Norton Lorenz, which – in all honesty – seems like it would fit perfectly into Professor Snape's recommended reading given to Harry. Have you heard of Schr_ _ö_ _dinger's Cat?'_

' _Dudley had a game once,' answered Harry. 'He got bored of it, but it was pretty interesting. They explained about it in that . . . "Virtue's Last Reward" or something, I think.'_

' _Percy watched a "Big Bang Theory" on it, so yeah,' added Ron._

 _Hermione gave a sigh and said: 'Well, that's a_ start _. . .'_

* * *

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"Wotcher, Remus!"

Remus looked up at Tonks. The young woman was dressed in the strangest of fashions, although it suited her well and expressed her personality, and he liked the purple shade of her coat that stood out well against her pale features. He could not deny that she was attractive; there was a heart-shaped faced, dark eyes that seemed to twinkle, and she always wore a smile that brightened any room. It seemed that she opted for a pink hairstyle that day, which inspired Ginny to ask for permission to dye her hair in turn, and styled it into spikes.

He moved slightly along the sofa to make room for her, as the leather creaked beneath him and the dust on the arm clung to his sleeve. There was a look from Sirius on the sofa opposite, as he lowered his book slightly to glance over the cover, and the smirk he wore was a little frustrating and reminded him too much of their youth. It was clear that Sirius knew exactly why his cousin decided to visit, but it was just as clear that he found it all too amusing to intervene. He simply lay on the sofa with feet up, book in hand, and black hair about his shoulders in a casual yet elegant manner. It was enough to make Remus sigh.

"How is university going?" Remus asked politely.

"Alright, thanks," said Tonks. "I can't say 'Law' is anything like I thought it'd be, but it's the most useful qualification for getting a ministry job these days. Minerva thought it funny, though, said I was better made for breaking the law than keeping it."

"Ah, yes, and I wonder where _that_ family trait stems from."

"Don't look at me," interrupted Sirius. "I was a saint."

Tonks let out a loud laugh, one that would have been almost adorable, but it seemed that she was trying perhaps – in some roundabout way – to impress Remus. It wasn't a fake laugh, not by any means, but there was a certain sound there . . . a quaver and a breath . . . so that this confident woman sounded almost unsure of herself. He looked at her through the corner of his green eyes, where he saw that she was watching him with something akin to interest, and he knew that they would need to talk seriously about this sooner or later.

"Seriously," continued Sirius, "I turned out fine."

"Pray tell," Remus teased, "what is it you _do_ exactly?"

"Well, I can certainly think of _one_ thing."

Remus gave a low hiss of breath through his clenched teeth. It was strange how the years wore on and yet he was still unable to stand up to Sirius, insofar as he still felt that insecurity that perhaps Tonks herself felt, that by chastising him or disagreeing with him that he might lose him in the process. There was something to be said for acknowledging one's fears, at the very least; it was interesting to read such a matter reflected in Harry's latest writings, where the boy appeared to express a fear of fear itself. He quite admired the young boy.

The windows in the drawing room let in very little light with which to read by, but the electric chandeliers above and wall lighting helped considerably, and it was with those lights that he was able to see the age difference between himself and Tonks. It was true that sometimes age differences were not an issue, but he could not help other than to despise the very thought of reciprocating her affections. This was a beautiful and intelligent young woman. She passed her exams – both at a general and advanced level – with flying colours, as such she would have a bright future ahead of her, and he could never burden her.

It simply seemed that she couldn't understand that. Tonks sat with one arm on the back of the sofa, whilst the other lay across her lap, and she watched Remus with that same look that Remus himself often gave to Sirius. He wanted to reach out to her and take her hand, if only to ease the blow, but the slightest sign of physical affection might be misinterpreted in her young mind and made to be more than what it could ever be. There was a youthful naivety regarding Tonks, along with an unshakeable optimism and dedication to her desires.

"Tonks, I must say that it is a surprise to see you."

"What can I say? I have the afternoon off," said Tonks. "I know it's close to the end of the month and all, but I figured you might want to step out for a while. Mad-Eye found this awesome café nearby! I think he found it by chance. He was checking out the entire street, making sure nothing was going on, and ended up recommending the place. What do you say? Do you want to get a bite to eat? Something to get your teeth into?"

"As much as I appreciate your humour, Tonks, I really can't say I'm in the mood today for socialising. I'm sorry." He gave a nervous smile and looked to Sirius briefly. "I'm – er – actually due to meet with Severus later, whilst I told Hermione I would find out a few other books for her to borrow. I'm not sure what she's studying, but it's quite complex."

"Hey, you're talking to the student with the best grades in her class! Why don't I help you out in finding those books? I might even have some copies at my place. You're welcome to come over and check, if you like. I could do with the company."

"Tonks, it really wouldn't be appropriate. I can't."

"You can't even just drop by?"

The look that Tonks sent him was heart breaking. It was strange to think that – were circumstances different – he might be tempted to give into her advances, but it would be unfair in the least and he found himself already committed to another. He remembered well what it was like to be her age and filled with romantic notions, especially when reality was yet to set in and idealism still prevailed, and he hated that he could be the one to break her sunny disposition and bring said reality crashing around her. He felt guilty.

There was a sudden sound of a honking horn outside, as well as some cursing from some drivers and pedestrians, and yet the tension was so strong between them that he did not feel compelled to look out the window in the least. He simply sat there as the dying embers in the fire to his left crackled and popped, and tried to wish himself anywhere but where he currently sat. It felt far colder than it ought in that old drawing room, and he wondered whether Harry and Hermione would be okay as they studied downstairs, but – most of all – he wondered whether Tonks would ever forgive him for this slight.

"I'm thirteen years your senior," he said softly.

"This again, Remus?" Tonks smile twitched nervously. "I don't mind. I know some couples with bigger age gaps that get on something wicked. I'm not asking you to marry me, you know, just maybe . . . go on a date or two. No harm in that, right?"

"I have nothing to offer you. I'm poor . . . I only have a place to live because of Sirius' generosity and hospitality, and it's hard to keep a job when every month you require at least three days off for safety reasons. I also couldn't guarantee _your_ safety. You're still so young; you don't know what the change means, what damage I could _do_. I nearly killed someone once, but I'm not sure what would be worse: killing them or changing them."

"I don't care, Remus! I don't care! I've told you a million times –"

"I'm also already seeing somebody."

Tonks' face fell at once. It was enough to make him feel a guilt unlike any other, which only reinforced the idea that he would be a bad match for someone like her. There was a part of him that wanted to run, although he knew that she deserved better than that, and he looked sheepishly down at his callused hands with a dejected expression. He felt Tonks shift away slightly, as the cushions of the sofa moved with her movements. It was then that she spoke quietly enough that he almost missed her words entirely:

"Oh . . . right . . ."

There was an awkward silence between them, whilst the papers of Sirius' book rustled slightly and the other man let out a nervous cough. Remus looked between the two, as he hoped for some form of out, but there was very little that could be said or done to ease the situation. He thought he heard a phone ring from the hallway, just as he was sure that he heard someone running down the stairs to calls of 'I'll get it', and it took all his strength not to use it as an excuse to leave. Tonks deserved a real explanation, not an excuse.

"Who – who is it? Do I know them?"

"I would rather not say at this time," he said sadly. "We dated casually back at school, but we were separated for a while . . . I never thought it would lead to something more, especially when we lost faith in each other once before, but we spent so much time together that I suppose it was inevitable really. If things were different . . . if it weren't for my condition, if I weren't committed to someone already . . . I'm sorry, Tonks. I truly am."

"Nah, you can't help who you fall in love with, can you?" Tonks smile broke and unshed tears formed. "I guess I should have known from the way you two acted. You were always something more than friends and less than lovers. Say, treat each other well, yeah?"

"I promise, Tonks," he whispered.

Tonks quickly made her way out of the room, whilst Remus felt her absence rather poignantly beside him. The cushion began to rise, whilst the warmth of her body was quickly gone, and he even caught the scent of her perfume in her movements, which made him realise that – at some other time, in some other place – he may well have succumbed to her persistent affections and flirtations. He loved Sirius dearly, but were Sirius not in his life for some reason or other -? Well, anything was possible.

It felt quiet without Tonks, but more so when he heard the front door open and close with something close to a slam, and he felt the guilt rise again deep inside. Sirius gave a sound like a sigh, whilst he showed a nervous smile and placed his book down upon his lap, and turned to look at Remus with a look that was almost indecipherable, at least for anyone that didn't know Sirius as well as he knew him. The cold seemed sharper suddenly, as if all the warmth from the room left with the broken-hearted woman, and he wished that there were something he could say or do to make things better. Sirius gave a sad sigh in turn.

"I bet her hair will be brown before the end of the day," said Sirius.

Remus smiled weakly, as he looked back to the door through which she left. It was strange to think that Tonks was a cousin of Sirius, especially as it added to the awkwardness of the situation, but he felt certain that she would have a much better life with someone her own age and someone that wasn't cursed like himself. If they were together, it would have only ended in tragedy. He didn't doubt that they one or both of them would have suffered greatly, and – besides all else – Sirius was his first and true love.

"How do you think she knew?"

"I guess we're not as subtle as we thought," said Sirius. "Is Harry still studying?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, I suppose he must be." Remus ran a hand over his face. "I must talk to Severus and Minerva about that; it's strange that the curriculum demands things like chaos theory and the butterfly effect. It seems too advanced for a year nine student."

"That's what concerns you? I'm more worried about how he coops himself up in that room. I wasn't like that at his age! Do you remember the trouble we used to get into? It's the age to be dating and causing trouble and exploring the world, not locked inside looking at dusty old books for a class he's probably not even taking. I mean _we_ turned out okay."

"Did we? You're living off your mother's inheritance and I'm always between jobs."

"Yes, but we're happy, aren't we? Isn't that all that matters?"

Remus smiled and looked to the still photos on the mantelpiece, where he saw his image reflected back at him through a layer of glass. There were the images of the dead, such as Lily and James, but also those of the living and new generations . . . it was strange to think that from such tragedy and destruction how wonderful things could come. He simply knew that he never wanted Harry or Hermione or Ron to never feel what any of them felt: exile, imprisonment, or _grief_. They were happy now, but at what cost?

"Do you ever wonder what could have happened had things been different?"

"Live in the present," said Sirius. "That's what I say!"

"I thought you would say that . . ."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

' _I do not have time to wait.'_

Harry recognised the voice immediately. He leaned over the balcony to look down at the ground floor; it was as grimy and dank as it ever was, with the elephant-leg umbrella stand taking up far too much room, although it looked nothing like an elephant's leg. The wallpaper was peeling in places, enough that Molly would insist they do something about it on every visit, and the carpet had worn thin enough that it was easy to slip. There was also an empty portrait on the wall, which no one seemed willing to take down.

Snape must have come to collect the books that Harry borrowed, and – luckily – Remus was available to open the door and greet him. It felt strange to see Snape in ordinary clothing, however; he was dressed in a suit with a long black coat, and this was one of the rare few times in which his teacher looked almost like a regular person. The yellowness of his teeth and the dark bags under his eyes still tainted his appearance, but he did look more 'human' for wont of a better term. Harry wondered why Snape didn't dress that way all the time, but perhaps it was because the robes were much more intimidating at school.

' _I don't want to keep you, Severus, but –'_

' _Then_ don't _,'_ said Severus. _'Circumstances may have forced us into something akin to an acquaintance, but that does not mean that I consider you a 'friend'. I have already explained that the books were for extra-reading and not part of the set curriculum. Surely, it is a compliment that I think the boy intelligent enough to grasp the gist of such material? If you have any further complaints, I am sure that mangy dog-father of his can offer an opinion.'_

' _Now that's not fair,'_ added Remus firmly. _'You know full well that I won't risk any arguments between the two of you whilst Harry is in the house. I didn't mean to criticise your teaching methods, but I do think it's strange that you're giving Harry extra work that's more suited to a much higher level. If you are_ trying _to annoy Sirius –'_

' _Trust me, if I sought to annoy that man then I would simply befriend the child.'_

' _Nevertheless, maybe you can set some easier work in future?'_

' _Maybe you should not criticise what you do not know.'_

It was then that Harry realised things would soon escalate. He was unaware what happened between these two men, but he knew it was severe enough that Severus seemed to find every second in Remus' company a horrible insult. It was a shame, as Remus stood there in a friendly manner, as if he actually sought a friendship or truth with the other, and he wore an expression of mild frustration upon his face, which made him somewhat paler than he usually looked. The scars upon his face were all the darker for it.

"I have the books here," called down Harry. "I'm coming."

He ran a hand through his hair to try and look more presentable, especially as he could see the curl of Severus' lips and roll of his eyes despite being a floor between them. It was virtually impossible to tame his black hair, which the adults around him often teased was just like his father's, but it always was something of a disappointment to him. The memories of his aunt Petunia came back in full force, as she always wore a slight look of sadness at the fact his hair would never stay in place, and Severus always mocked him in class for it, too.

Harry swept the books on the side-table into his arms, as he ran down the stairs into the hall, and stood awkwardly between both adults. He felt surprisingly underdressed, even in the presence of the shabbily dressed Remus, and it made him hunch his shoulders in something like embarrassment, which gained a quirk of an eyebrow from Severus. There was never anything good to say about Dudley's hand-me-down clothes at the best of times, along with Molly's lovingly made jumpers, but he refused to accept too many gifts from his godfather and others. It didn't feel right to just be given things like that.

"I – er – had a few questions," said Harry.

He handed the books to Severus, who snatched them up and slid them into a case he brought with him. The case was made from a smart leather, with what looked like a lot of paperwork inside, and there was a long strap that enabled it to hang from Severus' shoulder, which freed his hands and let him use them to put away his belongings. They looked somewhat crooked and long, almost like they belonged on another person entirely, and Harry wondered what kind of life Severus must have led. Severus gave a long hiss of breath, as Remus sighed.

"Perhaps you can ask Professor Snape at school," Remus suggested.

"That's the thing," added Harry. "I – I think I get the basics of it, because Hermione was pretty good at explaining, but . . . I guess it's more the application and purpose I struggle with, so I just wanted to quickly ask Professor Snape's opinion on it. Is that okay?"

"Well, he is a very busy man and has places to be . . ."

"It'd honestly just take a few minutes."

Severus gave another hiss of breath. It was enough that Remus placed a hand instinctively upon Harry's shoulder, as if to make it clear that he saw the young teenager like his own, and it warmed Harry to think that a part of his parents lived on through their friends. There was something nice about having family and people to protect him, which was why he never really envied the 'other' him that he saw in his dreams. There was a long pause in which no one spoke, perhaps too afraid to break the silence, until Severus said:

"If it is okay with Lupin, I have no objections."

"Well, it's okay with me," said Lupin. "Feel free to use the library."

"Thank you. Now, make it quick, Potter."

There was a somewhat suspicious look upon Remus' face, as Harry led Severus into the library, although that may have been due to the fact he knew Sirius would be furious should he discover the truth. It was hard not to feel a spark of guilt at putting Remus in such an awkward position, but – truth be told – he was so filled with questions and curiosity that he would have given anything for just the slightest explanation. He felt as if he were bursting from the inside. Every moment was consumed with theories and possibilities . . .

The library was a dark and miserable place, even more so than the one at school, and it was never a place that Harry frequented unless necessary for homework. It felt almost claustrophobic with rows upon rows of bookcases, whilst nearly each and every one was saturated with dust and sun-damaged spines, and there was a strange smell that he couldn't quite place, something musty and dank. Severus made his way over to a desk, where he swept a forefinger across the surface and sneered at the dirt that came off upon his fingertip. Harry felt like he would have sneered anyway; he loathed anything associated with Sirius.

Severus walked over to the nearest bookcase, where he selected three books seemingly at random and yet all hardbacks of the same size. He wandered back and stopped in his tracks, as he looked down at Harry with mild surprise, and Harry – realising that he was simply watching Severus all this time without a word – sat down into a nearby chair with a flush to his features. It was hard not to spot the roll of Severus' dark eyes, as he propped open a book upon the table, so that it stood upright and with its pages apart.

"You said you had questions," said Severus.

"Er, yeah, a few," Harry admitted. "See, well, the books were useful, but we couldn't really find a point, you know? Hermione even borrowed a few extras from Remus, something about the butterfly effect, and we learned a few new things about it all."

"If you learned anything at all, I would consider it an accomplishment." Severus gave a dark smirk and stood towering over Harry. "Very well, it seems that you have learned a few new theories, both philosophical and scientific. I dare say even a monkey could do so much. Why don't we begin with you telling me _why_ you think I gave you such work?"

"That's the thing, I just don't know! Ron said you set it just to be cruel, but that's not like you, is it? I mean . . . I'll be the first to admit that you can be a bit of a bully at times, but you don't just do things for no reason. I've been thinking about it over and over. The key thing seems to be that every choice has a consequence, as well as that multiple universes are said to exist because of this, and sometimes things both exist and don't exist . . . I don't know."

There was a small sigh from Severus, but – for once – this one sounded almost sympathetic and far from judgemental. It was possible that he saw how Harry's face fell, as the young teenager reached up to trace the pattern of his scar sadly, but it was equally as possible that he was simply tired with needing to spell things out that he considered so obvious. The older man rounded the table and stood opposite Harry, where he placed the two spare books beside the upright one before him, and then placed open palms flat upon the desk.

"Allow me the luxury of a visual demonstration," said Severus.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. The glasses on his nose slipped slightly, as he looked towards the upright book, and he was forced to adjust them and lean closer to see whatever it was that Severus intended to do next. He needed to know what this had to do with his dreams and his vision, but a part of him felt almost afraid, because whatever Severus was about to tell him was merely a 'theory' and part of whatever it was that the other adults kept secret from him. A part of him dreaded this being a horrible revelation.

"This book is open at a ninety-degree angle," said Severus.

"Yeah, I can see that," muttered Harry. "I still don't get the point."

"If you allow me to _finish_ , you just might." Severus glared at him and then tapped the spine with considerable force. "This spine represents a fixed point in time. It is here that a choice is made or a divergence of action occurs, where something both happens and does not happen, much like the story of Schrödinger's cat. Let us say . . . let us say, it is the point where a man _may_ die and his life hangs in the balance. There are two paths that his fate may go."

Harry looked to the book and thought he could sense where this was going, as he noticed that the two covers of the book faced in different directions and sat with a great deal of space apart, and yet both ran parallel with one another. He tried to remember the key point: the spine was the starting point in which a person existed in an uncertain state. It was enough make him bite his lip nervously, as he gave a slow nod to Severus to continue.

"If there is the possibility to both live and die, it is possible that one path becomes two and two realities are formed accordingly, or – rather – the _potential_ for both realities to exist is given form. The back cover is the path in which this man dies." Severus took a spare book and placed it along an imaginary line from the back cover. "It leads to the events of _this_ book. This means the path in which he lives, which follows the front cover, leads to the events of _this_ book." He placed the last book at the end of a line from the front cover. "Here."

"So there are two paths? Like, two parallel worlds?"

"I do not put faith in multiple worlds," said Severus. "It is a theory espoused often in popular entertainment, such as _Until Dawn_ or _Back to the Future_ or _Time Hollow_ , to cite some examples with which your generation may be familiar, but it rings hollow to me. I will say – however – that I personally believe the book upon the right to be reality as we know it, whereas the book on the left is reality _as it could have been_."

It was at this point that Harry felt lost.

He tried to think of a world in which Peeves the Poltergeist ran amuck, or centaurs paraded around a forbidden forest, or in which his rivalry with Draco led to them fighting on a nearly daily basis, but it felt too fantastical to be true. Magic wasn't real. The amount of times Tonks bruised or cut herself running into things, or how long Molly put into cooking and cleaning, seemed like it wouldn't have been a problem in a world in which magic could heal any wound or finish any chore. He would know if magic existed, wouldn't he?

It was then that Severus swept up the books and returned them to their places on the bookcases, and Harry – in a brief moment – saw in his mind the man that swept through dungeons with a snide look and with blatant favouritism. He saw a man that he _loathed_ on a fundamental level, as opposed to a teacher that merely annoyed him on occasion and sometimes visited the other adults at his home, and he saw someone with a leg ripped apart by a three-headed dog and whose robe caught on fire during a match. It was hard to reconcile the two realities, especially when he saw Severus as a potential friend.

"I'm not sure I like reality as it 'could' have been," said Harry.

"I must say that the reality as you _write_ it is most unappealing," muttered Severus. "Your aunt would have been most abusive, as she loathed magic and all it represented, whilst your godfather would still be in jail. I will bore you with explanation some other time. It is my _personal_ theory that you are seeing life as it could have been, which is somewhat problematic, as it implies the cessation of the magical world was tied to one event.

"This is where you will likely hate me and profess me to be a liar, but there was a time that magic _did_ exist. The school that you see in your mind is – or I should say _was_ – real. I believe the event that split reality into two paths was the moment in which the Dark Lord was killed; in your version of events he survived to wreak havoc, whereas in reality he was killed and magic died with him. The good news is that this implies the cessation of magic was tied to this event, which means the effects are reversible, but the bad news is we still do not know _why_ this happened and now we know what reality could have been."

Harry fell back in his chair. It was an awful lot to process, but he felt more that he was being mocked than treated with any respect. The idea that anyone could expect him to believe a world of magic was real -? It was insulting. Still, Severus was not known for lying, plus – deep in his heart – it _felt_ real . . . it felt as if he were finally seeing behind the veil, seeing what was in plain view all this time, and he hated himself for believing it. He bit his lip and shook his head, as he feared looking like a fool for trusting such an obvious lie.

It was then that Severus stood up, which reminded him of their difference in status. There was absolutely no reason for Severus _to_ treat him like an adult, so that – even if he were mocking him – such mockery would almost be justified, because he was just a kid that he taught at school and occasionally saw outside of school. The older man didn't seem to care whether he was believed or not, which implied that there was a lack of motive behind such words, and that only brought up a whole world of questions that Harry desperately wanted answered. He swallowed nervously and watched Severus walk away.

"Why should I believe you?" Harry asked.

"Why indeed?" Severus smirked. "Talk to your mangy dog-father. Draco is also aware of his past heritage, due to his parents that flaunt and break the laws set by _our_ Ministry, and you may find Dumbledore more willing to talk than a man of his position ought. If you ever decide to believe the truth, I would ask that you come find me. I am more than willing to show you the remains of Hogwarts and help you return magic to the world."

"How would that even _work_? I – I'm not bringing back magic, not if it means merging with the world in my stories and ruining people's lives! I still don't believe it. You're just trying to make me look like a fool, prove that I'm really mad or something . . . wizards aren't real, plus this would bring about so many questions. It can't be right."

"You would not be 'merging' two worlds, merely looking into the box to see whether the cat is alive or dead," said Severus. "Once we see that it is alive, we can work to create the future of _this_ reality one in which we can all thrive. The choice is ultimately yours, Potter."

"There isn't such a thing as magic . . . is there?"

Severus ignored him to walk towards the door. He lingered for a moment to cast a disparaging glance back to the young boy, where he rolled his eyes and shook his head sadly, before he opened the door and cast one final word to Harry:

"Goodbye, Potter."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Severus gave a sigh by the blackboard.

It was still a little unnerving, even after the years they knew one another. He was well aware that Severus disliked him, or at least disliked aspects of him, and he half-expected to be thrown into a detention simply for standing by his desk. The class was already dismissed, which meant that his friends would already be on their way home or to the dormitory, and it felt strange to him to see Draco leave with Hermione to discuss their homework, because – in another world – that would have been absolutely unthinkable.

The classroom was already beginning to grow dark, due to the winter sun growing low on the other side of the school, and it made it harder to focus his eyes. Severus kept the lights low, always and for little real reason, which meant that the blackboard often seemed to merge with his teacher dressed entirely in black, and the little light there was created a sharp glare on his glasses, which often gave him a headache. There was a lot of dust in the air from the chalk, which didn't seem to bother Severus in the least, and out in the hallways there were the sounds of cheering and shouting and laughter. He almost wished he could leave, too.

"Is there a reason why you linger in my presence?"

Harry gave a frown, as he adjusted his bag on his shoulder. The school uniform was quite uncomfortable, although nowhere near as much as the one the 'other' him would have worn, but it was made worse with the grass and mud stains all over. He adored playing football, but he knew playing in the rain was perhaps the worst idea he could have made. There was nothing he wanted more than to get home and change, and preferably wash his uniform before he went to his aunt's for the weekend. Harry shrugged, as he looked down.

"I was thinking about what you said last week," he muttered.

"I see," said Severus. "I hope the mental strain has not proved too painful."

"Look, I – I spoke to Ron and Hermione. They thought it kind of mad at first, but Ron remembered some stuff from growing up . . . he mentioned some things, said we shouldn't shrug it off right away, and said I should talk to Dumbledore about it."

"Needless to say, I despise mysteries, Potter. Be direct."

"Can't you be nice? This is hard for me."

Harry dropped his bag onto the workbench behind him, before he looked around for a nearby stool, but – with a roll of his eyes – Severus beat him to the punch. The older teacher rolled his office-chair from around his desk and offered it to Harry to sit in, which he did without any complaint. It was surprisingly comfortable and felt quite luxurious, despite looking rather modest in worth, and he watched as Severus half-perched on the end of his desk.

"Very well," said Severus. "Tell me, what have you learned?"

"Well, none of it really makes any sense," admitted Harry. "Ron said that growing up he found a lot of pictures without people in; there were empty backdrops and empty chairs, stuff that just didn't make sense to keep. His parents wouldn't let him throw them away, though. It reminded us of how the pictures moved in my stories, like how they might just vanish should magic vanish with them. He also said he found books about spells and dragons, things like that, but his parents confiscated them . . . why confiscate fictional books, right?

"Hermione pointed out the clothes you all wear, too. We also kind of noticed that there were a lot of broomsticks in Ron's shed, not to mention that Sirius' family tree has some pretty strange names, and then there are all these strange sweets that Ron gets given for Christmas. I think Ron's starting to believe it, although Hermione wants some more evidence first. I – er – spoke to Professor Dumbledore and he talked about Horcruxes, then said to talk to you."

Severus' eyes darkened considerably. It was enough to make Harry hope that this wasn't a case of shooting the messenger, as he tugged at his torn jumper sleeves and looked downwards, and he furrowed his brow in frustration about the situation. He would never understand why the complex relationship between teacher and headmaster was what it was, but he did know that Severus resented being made to deal with such matters. It felt ironic, because he probably wouldn't have minded in any other situation.

"Did he now?" Severus asked.

"He didn't say much," continued Harry. "He just said that legend has it that a person can split their soul into parts to stay alive, keeping them in objects, but that if magic ceased to exist then their soul pieces wouldn't be able to remain fixed in place, so –"

"That person would die. Yes, that was our theory when the Dark Lord died. We have been searching for the Horcruxes regardless, simply to be sure, but two have slipped through our grasp so far, although the others were all perfectly safe." Severus paused to give a hiss of breath. "It is my _personal_ theory that the moment the Dark Lord attacked you was the moment that magic ceased to be; in your 'other' world, he survived, but here -?"

"Here he died, because magic died. I don't know the whole story, not yet . . . I know you have secrets and have done some things you can't talk about, just like I know there's a much darker side to the Malfoy family than simply being prats, but I know _some_ of it. I know enough. Do you think -? Do you think the curse he cast was a part of this?"

"It is possible. I would be most curious to see where your stories lead, because – should you truly be seeing what could have been – it implies some form of magic still exists, or that there may be a way to regain magic to our world. It is something we should consider."

"I just want to know _why_ it's all such a secret. Why didn't I know?"

"That decision was a collective one."

Severus moved away to the door to the storeroom. He slid inside in such a way that it made it clear the discussion was at an end, especially when he narrowed his eyes dangerously and closed the door behind him, but Harry had come too far to go without answers. The young teenager climbed out of the seat and stalked towards the door, before he paused and entered without so much as a knock for permission. There was a rule that students were not to be alone with teachers in offices or storerooms, but he ignored it for the explanation he needed.

The storeroom was large, enough to almost serve as a classroom in its own right, and it was actually interim to the classroom just next door, with a second door adjoining the two rooms. There was some evidence of Madame Sprout's work scattered about, as well as some biology models that were all too familiar to Harry, and the opposite door looked locked shut and the classroom beyond seemed completely silent. Severus was nowhere to be seen. It took a moment to realise his teacher was hidden behind many shelving units and storage cupboards, where a makeshift kitchen was set up, and he appeared to be making instant coffee.

It felt strange to see Severus in such a human sort of habitat, nestled amongst paperwork and science equipment, but more so to see him actually drinking something so normal. Severus never stayed at Grimmauld Place longer than necessary, as he always ignored any offers for dinner that Remus or Molly made, and even on his lunch-hours he would never eat in the cafeteria, but instead locked himself away in the staff-room or his office. Harry gave a sigh and hoped that Severus would answer him and not ignore him:

"Why did you all keep it from us?"

Severus gave a sigh of his own, as the coffee steamed upwards and brought some moisture to his already oily skin, and – with a long sip – he glared darkly at Harry in such a way that it was almost as if the teenager was nothing to him. In an instant, all civility between them felt destroyed. This was evidently a sore topic, one that Severus did not wish to discuss, and clearly he was put into an awkward situation. Harry almost felt sorry for him.

"Children talk," said Severus.

"Is that it?" Harry asked. "Is that all you have to say?"

"You must be aware that our society was deprived of its very foundation overnight." Severus sent him a dark glare. "Imagine no longer being able to so much as peel a potato. Unable to travel long-distances, but unable to call for a taxi or catch a bus. We were a people split very much in two; those of us with muggle blood adapted well, whilst the purebloods could no longer function and were at a severe disadvantage. Ironic . . . the very people that some pureblood supremacists loathed were the key to their survival.

"In any case, the very core of wizarding society was shaken. Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade were no longer hidden, which required a complete rework of our businesses and establishments, so that many offer a 'muggle' front and a 'wizard' back. You only need slip certain shopkeepers a knut in order to gain access to special goods or services, whilst our Ministry and newspapers still exist in an attempt to keep our society alive. We have retained our cultures and customs. This school was set up in response to said events; Hogwarts once contained an enchanted parchment that would record all names of magical children born . . .

"You may have wondered why so many characters from your stories appear in real life, if you have not then now you know the truth. Your names were all written upon the parchment. The difficulty is that said parchment no longer exists, so we take mainly students from wizarding families and muggle students from the catchment area, in hopes that we can retain something of what we once had. This leads to your question; it was simply too dangerous to tell our youth the truth about the matters. Lives were considered at stake."

Harry lost his breath momentarily. He looked to Severus and saw what could have been trauma, but was certainly hardship, and the few lines on the older man's face looked all the deeper, as if they were marked more by pain than time. It was difficult to think about how someone would cope should everything they knew be taken away; he wondered how many jobs were lost, just as he wondered how many people were unable to so much as cook or clean, and he wondered if any lives were lost in the transition. He folded his arms and looked down at the floorboards sheepishly, before he asked:

"How were lives at stake?"

"It is as I said: children talk," said Severus. "The Ministry implemented a rule in which you – and your friends – would be told upon your seventeenth birthday, which is our age of majority. There are those, like Lucius Malfoy, that ignore this law, but it is generally obeyed for the most part. Tell me, Potter, what would you expect a young child to do with such knowledge? Do you not think it would be spread around the playground by lunchtime?"

"Yeah, well, so what? It's not as though anyone actually believes in magic. It's just something for television and film, something for entertainment and fantasy, and lots of kids have imaginary friends and detailed dreams, don't they? I should still have been told!"

"Oh, what then? At best, children would be taken from their parents by social services, all because they are so heavily indoctrinated into the belief that they are 'wizards', at worst we would be corralled and examined like germs under a microscope. It says a lot when the best outcome is removal of children into a foster home, or perhaps psychological assessment."

"That's not necessarily true, though, is it? You make muggles out to be monsters."

"They burned their own kind to death in an attempt to eradicate us."

"Whereas we created a war that ended in my parents death."

Severus slammed his mug onto the counter. The liquid splashed over the side and onto his hand, which looked painful and yet resulted in no response from him, and he drew in such a deep breath that his chest puffed out considerably. It was probably a low blow to mention a war that affected so many people, but they acted like he had no idea about what pain and suffering could mean. He might not have actually lived through giant snakes or three-headed dog attacks, but he lived through them really enough in his dreams.

"So I really _didn't_ make up that world?" Harry asked.

There was a softening from Severus' features, as if he remembered just what a shock this would be to Harry and what Harry's visions could mean. He placed his mug within the sink, before he picked up a stack of lesson plans, and walked past Harry back into the classroom, but – this time – he waited in the doorway and signalled for the young student to follow him back into the classroom. Severus pulled his chair back into its proper place, whilst Harry took a seat opposite the desk on the workbench. The air suddenly felt cold.

"No, you did not make it up," admitted Severus.

"It's so weird, though," continued Harry. "Ginny is like a sister to me, but in that world she had a _crush_ on me. Draco made Hermione cry, whereas here they have study dates. It's just -! I can't get my head around it; it feels like everything changes with just that one difference in outcome, like that . . . that butterfly effect. I kind of miss the fact I might never meet Dobby, plus Hermione kind of liked that her teeth were fixed, and I liked summers with Ron."

"Yes, but you would also have spent years abused by your aunt and uncle. Your godfather would be imprisoned and half-mad, whilst you would never have spent your childhood in Remus' company, and you would have risked your life twice."

"Yeah, but which one is real? If Ginny is like my sister, what happens if I end up dating someone else? Is she my soul mate or the other person I end up with? Does that mean the relationship we had in the other world meant nothing, or would this world mean nothing? What of the people that might not meet or might not be born? What if bad people live?"

It was so much to process. He wondered about the huge differences, especially when even this conversation would have been impossible in that other world, and he couldn't fathom what it meant in terms of destiny and chance. Severus' pen paused upon the paper, as he glanced up with an equally curious gaze. It wasn't just Harry's life that was different. What if Tonks ended up with Remus in the other world, because Sirius wasn't around? What if Ginny and Harry married, because they didn't grow up together like they did here? What if Dumbledore died, because Voldermort was still alive and wanted revenge? Harry shivered.

"I would not concern yourself with such things," said Severus.

"Why not? So – so I put a stop to Voldermort, great! What about all the -?"

"Listen to me carefully, Potter. Every day in life we make a series of choices and actions, so that – theoretically – each one spawns several paths, and down each path the universe changes accordingly to the results of our chosen directions. There are some that say there an infinite number of worlds, whilst others that say this is all quite poppycock, but we can agree on one thing: there is only here and now subjectively speaking."

"Is this to do with what you taught us in class? _Cogito ergo sum_?"

"More or less, Potter. More or less."

Severus gave a rare smile, as he looked back down at his plans. There was a vast array of huddled notes in the margins, written quite beautifully, and it always amazed Harry that someone so coarse and cruel could be capable of such handwriting. It made him wonder what would have happened had Severus and his mother remained friends, just as he wondered what split them apart, and he wondered if that smile was the start of seeing what she once saw. He was jostled from his thoughts of potential friendship with Severus' words.

"You did not choose what happened to you," said Severus.

He looked up at Harry briefly, before he glanced back to his work. It was true that Harry never asked for his parents' deaths, just as he never chose to be part of the cause for the cessation of magic, but he couldn't deny that he was connected to both events. He felt responsible for their future. It was growing dark outside, enough that he knew he would need to go home soon, especially should he want to catch the evening train and not wait until morning, but there was still questions upon questions. He felt lost.

"It's just hard to reconcile," admitted Harry. "Which world is better?"

"We shall soon find out as both develop, no doubt. In the meantime, allow me to make you an offer: once you turn seventeen, I will be quite open to involving you in my studies, and – should you wish – I will happily escort you to the remains of Hogwarts."

The smile that Harry wore was hard to fight back. There was just something so exciting at finally being able to see the source of all his stories, the very centre of the magical world of the past, and to have some connection to his parents and family. He knew that Severus only offered due to the fact he saw Harry as a tool, something to be used to somehow bring back magic to their people, but that only added to the desperate need to go back.

"Do you really think we could bring back magic?" Harry asked.

"I think you have proven anything is possible."

Harry gave a warm smile.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part Two**  
 **Chapter Six**

" _What do you mean you already know?_ "

The look that Molly gave them was quite frightening. It was strange to see the plump and motherly woman look so angry, so much so that she almost reminded Harry of a sabre-tooth tiger, and her brown eyes no longer looked so warm as they usually did. He slid further down in his seat, whilst Ron looked flustered and cast his gaze around the table in search of support. There was nothing more than a sheepish and apologetic look from Hermione, whilst Bill appeared to be holding back laughter, and Remus and Arthur looked scandalised.

There was nothing worse than to be caught under Molly's wrath, which made Harry incredibly grateful that he so far thus avoided annoying her in any way. He could only feel sorry for Ron as he shifted from foot to foot, whilst he ran a hand through his red hair and flushed a colour to put that same red to shame, and it was only the whistling of an old kettle upon the stove that stole the attention away from him. Molly turned around with a mild curse, as she lifted the kettle away with an old dishcloth. It seemed that – despite all her years in a non-magical world – she was still wary about electricity.

"It wasn't my fault," muttered Ron. "Harry told me."

"Thanks, Ron, I needed that," said Harry.

He cast his best friend a dark look, as Ron slid into a seat at the kitchen table with a shrug of his shoulders and a whispered apology. The kitchen of the Burrow was a rather strange place; it was incredibly cosy, but incredibly eccentric, with rumour having it that most of the furniture came from the home of some old pop star. Percy once told them the house used to be over four storeys tall, with the kitchen at its heart, but they only remembered it with three storeys and a wide extension adding to width rather than height.

Harry enjoyed the eclectic collection of objects, though, just as the huge fireplace added to the warmth and family-feel of the home, and the large dining table always seemed able to fit just about anyone and everyone. The only exception was at large celebrations, where they were forced to eat outside under a large tent, but even that was always enjoyable and always carried with it a sense of 'family'. It was easy to envy Percy's complaints, Bill's wild fashion sense, and even Charlie's fantastical stories. He only hoped that the upcoming marriage between Bill and Tonks would be as amazing as everyone hoped.

"I kind of . . . figured it out," said Harry lamely.

"What Harry means to say," added Hermione from beside him, "is that he was having those dreams and visions, so we decided to investigate them. It wasn't that anyone told us, as I'm sure no adult would ever break the law, but only that we were able to put together the information we had to come up with the truth. We've known for a few years."

"Yeah, you know how rough that was?" Ron asked. "Harry hasn't even shown you his latest few books, but he's been writing more and more, and some of what happens is pretty dark. It's disturbing when you know your classmates could have _died_ in some other place, let alone that some people you think rock as a couple wouldn't have dated, and Sirius -? That was traumatic. I kind of wish I never read that part. I'm glad magic doesn't exist, to be honest."

"I'm glad Voldermort is dead," said Harry coolly. "I'm not so glad magic is gone, though. I just keep thinking about how much we could have _done_ with magic around, maybe help make the world a better place and one easier to navigate. We could have done so much."

"I don't see how, mate. There was that secrecy thing in your book."

"The Statue of Secrecy . . . yeah."

Harry gave a deep sigh of regret. The one thought he had – as the visions played over in his head, as he wrote them onto paper – was that the wizarding world could have done so much for the muggle community. It was possible that muggle medicine could have helped with diseases like cancer, whilst wizarding potions could have cured some disabilities and improved the quality of life for many, and yet the separation and segregation prevented any real evolution on either side. It would have been so much better to work together.

There were so many questions, but he could only look around the table in bemusement that they would wait until his seventeenth birthday to tell him. The fact they waited until this day to tell the 'Golden Trio' all together made it stranger, because it felt more like a 'coming of age' talk than anything else, words of wisdom given to a person on their eighteenth birthday once they became an adult. He half-expected to be lectured on drinking in moderation, eating healthily, and not staying out late. This was a world-changing piece of knowledge, a secret kept from them for years, and it felt anti-climatic to hear it aloud.

It was then he heard the crackle from the fire. He smiled sadly to think – in some other world – it may have meant the coming of a visitor, but instead it was merely the wood snapping and breaking under the flames. The glow was almost comforting, even as it sent shadows across the table and aged its occupants considerably, and he wondered for a moment what else they may have kept from him. There was more and more that he saw in his visions, such as what his father was really like and about Remus' condition, but what else was there?

"Why did you all let me think I was mad?" Harry asked.

Bill had the decency to look a little guilty. He looked quite handsome; he wore his hair long and in a ponytail, although Harry always thought it would look better loose, and he still wore his fang-earring that drew a lot of attention to the shape of his face. It was easy to be awed by how cool he looked, especially with his rock-star clothes and dragon-scale boots, but that only made it easy to forget that he was a part of this large web of lies, which was something he daren't forget for even a second. Harry bit his lip and tried not to get distracted.

"None of us knew what your visions meant," said Bill kindly.

"You see, Harry," interrupted Arthur, "there was some concern that maybe You-Know-Who was still alive. We thought _maybe_ he was using his connection with you to send you these dreams, but – when we learned he was gone for good – a lot of other theories emerged about what these fantasies might mean. Severus thought maybe you were seeing what 'could have been' in some other world, Minerva thought you heard us talking about magic and were subconsciously creating a world around half-remembered anecdotes . . ."

"No one meant for you to think you were mad, dear," added Molly. "It was simply that we didn't want to worry you. Lots of children have imaginary friends and things like that, but if we told you the truth it would only have distressed you. It was better that you think such things just flights of fantasy, else it may have put you in danger . . ."

"Ah, that's a very fair point! Do you remember when Harry took the train up to Glasgow? He was searching for Hogwarts, of all things! It caused quite the ruckus at the Ministry, let me tell you! We worried he might have been kidnapped for a while, especially by someone that knew about his little stories and books, because if the Death Eaters thought like we did -! Well, they might just well have taken him to try and reach their master. Bad times."

"I think that was the final straw," admitted Molly. "It was better to let you think it was all nothing, because we couldn't risk you telling more people, especially when there are those out there that would possibly do you harm. Running away! Frightened me half to death!"

"We are sorry, Harry," added Remus. "We just did what we thought was best."

"I – I get it," said Harry. "Honestly, it's fine."

He ran a hand through his hair and gave a sigh, as he thought about how dangerous the Death Eaters were in the other world. The world-cup ended in disaster, with the three of them wandering lost through the woods and Winky dismissed from her position, and that was just the bright side of things . . . the muggle family that were tortured, the people that were later killed, the war that was about to begin . . . those people were still out there. Molly was right, but that only made retrieving magic more important. They needed some self-defence.

"Er, I did have one question," said Harry.

It was strange how quiet the room became. Ron nudged him underneath the table, where he sent rather obvious glances at him to be quiet, and Hermione clearly fought an urge to roll her eyes from where she sat. Remus gave a soft cough to clear his throat, although he possibly picked up on the awkward tension between the three older teenagers, and it probably only added to his nervousness as he wondered what Ron and Hermione could fear being asked.

"What's that then?" Bill asked.

"Sev- . . . I mean Professor Snape . . . he's been researching my condition for some time, along with Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey, and they thought that _maybe_ the spell that Voldermort cast potentially held two effects." Harry flushed awkwardly. "In the other world, it turned me into a Horcrux, but in this world it somehow resulted in magic being squashed down. They – they think magic may still exist, though, because . . ."

"Because you are still having those visions," finished Arthur. "Well, I must say it's something we discussed in the Order, too. If magic is the reason why you still see what could have been, it means magic still exists on some level to restore. It's a jolly fascinating theory, although it requires a lot more investigation into the cause of things."

"Yeah, that's the thing. Dumbledore thinks perhaps the collision of magic was so great, that it sort of cancelled each other out . . . like a – like a lock of sorts. If there's some sort of magic curse or charm that's repressing magic from being used, well . . . maybe we can undo it."

"How do you undo a magic spell without magic? Is that your question?"

"Actually, it's more _our_ question. You see, I was wondering . . ."

Harry gave a sigh and scratched at his neck nervously. He knew that Bill and Arthur would be supportive, but he also knew that he was still under eighteen in the muggle world, which meant that he still needed permission. There was a lot to appreciate about his life; summers spent in Devon, weekdays spent in London, and weekends in Surrey. It was almost as if he had three families, instead of just one, but that meant there were three more sets of reactions to worry about. He didn't envy his other self, but he did long for that independence.

"Severus is planning on visiting Hogwarts," he said.

He dared a glance over to Remus, thankful that Sirius chose to stay back in London, and saw that his surrogate uncle paled considerably. It wasn't yet the full moon, which meant his reaction was solely to Harry's words, but – aside from a hissed intake of breath – he looked quite calm and wore that ever-present smile. Ron continued to kick him underneath the table, although his kicks were starting to hurt and it forced Harry to glare at him to stop.

"Go on, Harry, we're listening," said Remus.

"The place is restricted to the public," continued Harry. "It's apparently protected by Aurors and things, but – with Dumbledore's permission – Severus has managed to get unrestricted access to the grounds and castle. I wanted to know whether I could go with him."

There was a rather deafening silence. In this world, much like the other, Severus was trusted almost unconditionally by most of the adults, as he was trusted by Dumbledore and proved himself through his actions many times over. The problem was that being loyal to a cause wasn't the same as being a good person; Severus was surly and sarcastic, he bullied his students and played favourites, and he had done things in his past that couldn't be easily forgotten. They had every right to worry about a trip taken alone with him.

"Well, you _are_ seventeen now," said Arthur.

"Yes, but he's also Sirius' godson," added Remus. "I'm not sure he would approve. I wouldn't put it past him to involve the muggle police, because – seventeen or not – he is still technically a minor in their society and under Sirius' guardianship."

"You can have a word with him, can't you?" Harry asked. "It's not fair that his rivalry with Severus stops me from going. I've never even _been_ to a wizarding community before! I want to see where I've come from and what our world is like; I want to see a real knut, taste a sugar quill, talk to people like me . . . I also want to help however I can. If this – if this all _started_ with me, maybe it can end with me, too? Maybe I can help bring magic back."

"That's a lot of pressure to put on yourself, Harry. You're an intelligent young man, but you're also sensitive and have – _don't get angry with me_ – something of a hero complex." Remus paused to give Harry a hard look. "I said not to get angry. You must admit it's true; you feel you must save everyone, which is admirable, but not sustainable. I worry what will happen, because if you can't find a fix for the matter then you may just blame yourself. You've already been through so much. You don't need this responsibility, too."

"Please, I _need_ to go. We were all going to go to Diagon Alley anyway, weren't we? It's not as though the whole wizarding world is off-limits, so really Sirius' only objection is that I'm going with Professor Snape, and – if you're so worried about me feeling guilty – I'd only feel worse if I couldn't do anything to help! It's just one weekend, that's all."

"I'll have a word with Sirius, but I can't guarantee anything."

"Thanks, Remus. I really appreciate it."

Harry smiled brightly. The idea of finally seeing Hogwarts was a relief unlike any other, as despite it not being 'real' it still felt like a home from home, and the 'memories' there felt almost as real as the ones created during his lifetime. He wanted to see the Great Hall, where Neville received his howler and where they had the Yule Ball, and he wanted to see the Quidditch pitch, where he won so many matches and lost some others. It was such a strange feeling, but it was a rush unlike any other. He felt grateful to go back.

It would be hard work, too, and he wasn't sure that he could endure a weekend with Severus without an argument ensuing, but their tentative friendship wasn't like what it was in the world where magic existed. He just prayed that Severus could be a better teacher when it came to magic than he was with Occlumency, as there was no way that anyone could survive such strict and dismissive methods right before their final year. Ron gave a sigh next to him, as he reached out for a freshly baked cake on the table, before he asked:

"Why can't we see Hogwarts?"

"There really isn't much to see," said Hermione. "The portraits no longer have any subjects inside them, the books you can find at any shop in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, and anything valuable was taken by its owner to somewhere safe. I read 'Hogwarts: A History' – the revised edition, of course – and most people only visit for the architectural value or to study some of the creatures in the Forbidden Forest. We can always visit another time."

"To be honest, I kind of feel bad that I can't come with you," said Harry. "Between my birthday and the wedding and our last year of school . . . there wasn't much time to schedule the trip. I'm sorry. Maybe we can go together around Christmas? I'd love to see what's changed since my visions. Gringotts was pretty impressive."

"You see, Ron?" Hermione asked. "That's not to mention that Professor Snape will likely spend most of the time conducting research. It's not an ideal way to spend one's summer holidays, especially when the two of you don't get on in the least."

"Hey, it's not my fault the greasy git hates me," muttered Ron.

"Exactly, which is why we weren't invited."

Harry rolled his eyes with a smile. It was easy to see why Ron didn't like Severus, as – frankly – Harry would rather have endured Lockhart at times as a teacher, although he would equally admit that they weren't the best chemistry students. The happiest day of Ron's life seemed to be when he turned sixteen and entered year twelve, because most of that summer was spent with muttered 'suck it, Snape' behind the older man's back. Still, as much as there was animosity between them, he would have liked to have his best friend there.

"I'll take photos for you, I promise," said Harry.

There was a small snort from Ron, who likely felt a little left out at being unable to go as well, although they both knew the redheaded teenager would have been bored out of his mind on such a trip. They would have much to catch up on, once they met again at school come September, and a part of Harry prayed that part of that would be the news that magic was back. Ron broke his train of thought abruptly, as he said with a smirk:

"If he gets on your nerves, remind him he's a _crap_ Potions teacher."

Harry let out a loud laugh and felt thankful for his friends.

"Sure," said Harry. "I'll bear that in mind."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Harry looked around in amazement.

 _The_ _Three Broomsticks_ was everything like he imagined; there was a warm and crowded atmosphere, filled with people laughing and gossiping, and there was even a scent of smoke that lingered with the alcohol in the air. It was almost like returning home. The mirror behind the bar reflected back the many robed adults, where each one looked exactly like they did in his dreams, and the sound of the pewter tankards against one another rang in the air, until all the noises mingled and merged to become something almost magical in itself.

He smiled and appreciated the warmth of the large fires, as well as the many candle and gaslights, and looked down at what was left of his butterbeer before him. It was unlike anything he ever tasted, so that even the 'memory' didn't do it justice. The tankard still foamed a little, whilst drips of condensation collected on the outside and on the handle, which only added to the feeling that this was some other world, as he couldn't remember pubs ever using handled glasses. It was warm and sweet, not quite sickly, and it was more refreshing than anything he tasted before. He was tempted to order another.

"Are you finished, Harry?"

Harry jumped in surprise, before he turned with a slight blush. He saw Severus behind him; it wasn't an unusual sight in the least, but it was unusual to see him in such traditional attire, so that his black robes reached his feet and the buttons along the material must have taken ages to fasten. Sirius once mentioned that traditionally nothing was worn under the robes, almost like a dress, and the visions of Severus' old memory unfortunately revealed that to be true, and a part of him wondered whether the recent inclusion of trousers was an adoption from muggle culture. There were so many questions about wizards that had yet to be answered.

He tried not to look too hard at was once his teacher. It felt strange still to be in his presence as something more acquaintance than student; he never regretted – like Ron – dropping chemistry the first chance he got, but he did regret spending less time around Severus, so that he almost felt grateful for the opportunity to be around him for the weekend. Harry pushed back his nearly empty glass, as he gave a soft sigh, and he felt a slight disappointment at being unable to linger for a little longer in the inn, although he knew work was to be done.

"I didn't think you'd be so quick," said Harry.

"It took only a few moments to place our baggage within our rooms," replied Severus. "I thought we could postpone our research until tomorrow; it has been a long journey, and this is your first visit into any wizarding community, as such I thought a short visit may be enjoyable to you. You may wish to purchase some books from _Tomes and Scrolls_ , although I have the sickening feeling that _Honeydukes_ may be more to your liking."

"Er, actually, would it be weird to want to see _ScrivenShaft's Quill Shop_ and _Gladrags Wizardwear?_ I kind of wanted to check out _Ceridwen's Cauldrons_ , too. I know they probably seem like novelty shops to muggles, but I've never seen any magical items before. It'd be interesting to know why people still buy them, when – you know – they don't do anything."

"Many objects have more uses than they seem. A wise woman once told me that even broken pottery may still find a new destiny in art itself; it was some years after her death that I discovered the Japanese art of _kintsugi_ , which I considered a sign upon itself."

"It's funny, you weren't so philosophical in my visions," said Harry with a smile.

"It's funny, you still compare this world to that one."

Severus raised his hand to dismiss Madam Rosmerta, as she came over with a glass of firewhiskey, and it made Harry realise that maybe a few of the adults still visited the places that once frequented, enough to still be regulars and recognised by sight. The bar brought back several memories, some more pleasant than others, and he smiled to himself as he thought about the interview with Rita that Hermione concocted. Two potential worlds, but only one truly existed. It always amazed him no one else could see it.

"Even after all this time, it's hard to reconcile the two," admitted Harry.

"You must remember that the only thing that has changed is circumstance," said Severus. "Nonetheless, this is a discussion for some other time. I wish to retire early tonight, but if we linger much longer then such a wish will go unfulfilled. We need to be up early tomorrow."

Severus slid some wizarding money across the bar. The mathematics behind it still made Harry's head spin, enough that he kind of regretted not growing up knowing the conversions behind the coins, and he was till trying to work out the values when Rosmerta slid back some change. It was then that Severus left with robes that billowed out behind him, with the fast pace of something that bordered on grace, and Harry was forced to jump up quickly to catch up with him. He followed behind as they went outside.

The village of Hogsmeade filled him with a sense of awe, enough that he hoped they could explore it at greater length some other time, and he wondered how beautiful it would look during the winter season. It looked almost like it belonged on a Christmas card; the buildings were quaint and thatched, whilst the shops were all small businesses and no chain stores were in sight, and it reminded him of the 'Britain' seen on old television shows and period pieces, except with people in robes rather than old-fashioned clothes. He spotted a small café near to them, which made him smile at the memories associated with it.

"Hey, is that _Madam Puddifoot's_?"

Severus stopped in his tracks. The older man pushed back a lock of black hair, as he narrowed his gaze on the somewhat tacky establishment. It was rather adorable how the windows steamed up and the bell over the door tinkled with each movement, and it looked rather cosy from what he could see, enough that he could see why Cho might like it and wondered what it was that made 'him' hate it. Harry actually felt in the mood for something warm, even despite the butterbeer, and it would be nice to see what changed.

"You wish to go inside?"

"Can we?"

"I think not," said Severus. "You may no longer be my student, but you are a student at the school in which I teach. I may not enjoy my job, but I certainly wish to keep it; I think it best that we avoid any such establishments and the unnecessary gossip associated with them."

He blushed deeply, as Severus took a new path and walked away. It was easy to forget that each building had its own associations; one inn was 'welcoming' and the other 'sinister', one café was for 'couples' and another was for 'everyone', and he hoped that he hadn't inadvertently made things awkward between the two of them. Severus' humour was often dark and dry, so it was hard to sometimes tell when he was serious or sarcastic, but – regardless of how the words were intended – he didn't look offended, at least.

They soon found themselves at _Tomes and Scrolls_. Severus led the way inside, where the shop looked like any ordinary bookstore. There were mazes of cramped bookcases, just as there were piles of books around every corner and often serving as tripping hazards, and second-hand novels stood against the latest chart-topping paperbacks, so that the place looked like an eclectic bibliophile's dream. He almost missed how that Severus slid a knut across the counter, just as how he nearly missed the owner nodding in return, and suddenly Severus hand touched his shoulder and guided him into what looked like a backroom.

It was something beyond his comprehension.

The 'backroom' actually led into what could have been a whole other shop, as if someone split the building into two and forgot to tell the public about the rest, and it was filled with the strangest and most alien of books he could ever imagine. There was one with fur and teeth, although it sat unmoving and limp, and another that seemed to be about vampires, although it bore the name 'Lockhart' and made Harry roll his eyes, and another book looked so large that there was no way that any person could ever hold it. Hermione would have been in heaven.

Severus wandered around to collect several books, but one caught Harry's attention: _The Book of Spells_ by Miranda Goshawk. It was one of those used in Hogwarts lessons; it looked familiar to him, and he couldn't help but to peruse its pages. There were spells that he knew so well, but never in his life cast or spoke aloud, and he found himself raising his hand on sight of one in particular, as he attempted the hand gestures to accompany it.

" _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," whispered Harry.

"It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, Potter. You need to lengthen the 'gar' and emphasise the 'o'; I would also recommend moving your hand like so, as you move your hand too abruptly. Too strong a flick will result in a rather violent reaction."

Severus stood behind Harry; they were so close that Harry was unable to turn around, which was a rather uncomfortable feeling with someone that was both his teacher and a friend, and he felt the proximity somewhat inappropriate considering the blurred boundaries. He blushed and swallowed hard, whilst Severus innocently took his hand and moved it according to the proper wand-movements, before Severus stepped away to his side and gave him a strange look. It was almost as if he sensed Harry's discomfort and felt some confusion.

"Er, thanks," said Harry.

"This book used to be a part of our curriculum," replied Severus sadly. "I remember having studied it during my time as a student, just as it was likely that you would have studied it in turn. It is a shame that you will not show your writing to those other than your friends, as I would have been most interested in seeing what may have become of that world."

"You said it yourself that what matters is here and now, right?" Harry shrugged his shoulders and looked down sadly. "It wouldn't have gone well. Sirius died, Bill was scarred, and you were considered a traitor . . . I don't think you were, but there are a lot of unanswered questions and you _did_ do something really bad in my sixth year. Frankly, I kind of wish that a lot of it never happened, but – then again – I guess it _didn't_ happen."

"I can see where some of your struggles arise. It must be difficult to endure the death of one's godfather, worse to see someone teach in your school and be unable to trust them, and that isn't to speak of many other issues that must have appeared in your visions."

"Yeah, you can say that again." Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed another book. "There was a girl called Fleur that visited our school during our fourth year, but – because we were never _at_ Hogwarts it meant that she could never visit us, so she never met Bill and they never got married. Sirius spent twelve years in prison then died, so he was never more than Remus' friend, so Remus ended up marrying Tonks. I always thought love was . . . _I don't know_. I guess if soul-mates exist, one of the worlds is a world in which a lot of people settle."

Harry looked up to see that Severus wore an incomprehensible expression. It was rare to see him show any kind of emotion, even in his dreams and visions; a dark smile of humour when fairly criticised during private lessons, a furious diatribe when his memory was invaded, and even the sheer insanity when denied his Order of Merlin. The times when he showed something deeper, in both worlds, were times when he was angry and not sorrowful.

"Er, sorry, did I say something wrong?"

"No, not at all," said Severus. "Love is a very complicated matter, so that it is safe to say that it is not always synonymous with one's 'soul-mate'. If you are to believe in such romantic nonsense, I would suggest that – in both worlds – one inevitably meets with one's soul mate in death and that life is merely a learning curve. 'Settling' is fine, so long as both partners find some happiness and do not linger in misery. It is worse to be in self-imposed exile."

"We had to read a book in English once," said Harry. "They said something like: 'it's better to be happy than content, but I'm happy to settle for contentment'. It'd just be nice to know which world was 'real' in that sense, you know? Like, will Tonks be as happy with Bill as she could have been with Remus? What if Hermione ends up with Draco? What if -?"

"What if the world ends with its next rotation? There is nothing in the world that will drive you to insanity faster than 'what if', Harry. Believe me; _I know_." Severus looked around with a pained expression. "Do not poison your mind with what may have been."

"I guess you're right. I guess . . . at least in this world . . . we all have second chances."

"Your world always did seem one of penance and not forgiveness."

"Yeah, I guess we should be grateful, huh?"

Harry slid the book back with a sigh, as he still felt the touch of the older man upon his fingers, which made him look away awkwardly. It was enough to make him sigh and turn to face Severus, who held an armful of books; some of which looked too advanced for Harry to make any sense of their titles, whilst others seemed far too simple for someone of Severus' intelligence, and it stole his curiosity. They came all this way and this was the first place that they visited after leaving their belongings in the inn, and so he had to ask:

"Er, so, what books are you getting?"

There was a heavy sigh from Severus. He adjusted the books that sat on the crook of his arm, partially hidden by the fall of his cloak, and pulled three onto the top of the pile, as if he sought to invite Harry for a closer look. The smell of old parchment and yellowing paper hung in the air, enough that it was actually something of a comfort, and Harry rolled his shoulders and drew in a deep breath. Severus merely rolled his eyes in response.

"You mean what books are _you_ getting?"

"You expect me to buy all those books?" Harry asked.

"No, not today," said Severus. "You can consider these three my 'treat'. I will not endure a hapless and clueless companion, thus you will study as much as possible to bring your knowledge of our world to an adequate level. These books are as follows: _A History of Magic, Magical Theory,_ and _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. History does not change, nor does the existence of many creatures, as such they will remain of interest to you."

"And theory just in case we can bring magic back? I don't think I'll be able to read them all by tomorrow, but I'll definitely study them. I kind of expected you to throw in some potion books, to be honest . . . how come they seem so cheap, anyway?"

"The price is relatively low due to the lack of demand. There are still some that purchase such books, particularly those that come of age and wish to know more of their heritage, but – overall – the demand is low enough not to justify high costs." Severus gave a sigh. "There is also little point in giving you potions work, as such potions will not currently work."

There was a surprisingly gentle sadness to Severus' expression. It was a longing look that Harry often pictured himself wearing in the other world, where all he ever wanted was just out of reach, and he realised that perhaps Severus once defined himself by his skills in potion making. The idea of losing everything that made one feel worthwhile -? Everyone from Remus to Umbridge depended upon Severus in some form or other, including Pomfrey and others, and now he stood there as just a regular man like any other man.

"I was never any good at potions," admitted Harry.

Severus gave a smirk of amusement. The fact that Harry struggled with potions was likely no secret, as the first three books he wrote made that glaringly obvious, and he vaguely recalled his other self suffering through many detentions and extra work. It was very much the same reason he struggled with chemistry, which he now realised was actually intricately linked with potions as a whole, and he could see how Severus so easily transitioned between the two subjects. He admired how the older man could be so talented.

It was then that Severus walked around one of the bookcases to a dark nook, but – before Harry could follow – he reappeared with a dark book with a picture of a cauldron upon the front, and on the spine the words ' _Magical Drafts and Potions_ ' could just be made out. Severus placed the book on top of his growing pile, although he was forced to bounce the contents to adjust his hold, and Harry was tempted to ask whether he wanted help to carry them, although he thought better of it when he remembered Severus' pride. There followed a sigh from Severus, as he nodded towards the book.

"This may help," he said.

"I doubt it," replied Harry with a smile. "The only time I ever got good grades was when I used your book; your notes helped me more than fives years of teaching ever did, so I kind of ended up really admiring the Half-Blood Prince. He was everything to me for a while. We spent ages trying to unravel the mystery of who he was, what he may have been, until you told me the truth one day. I still can't believe you were one and the same."

"You can't believe a boy so gifted in a single subject, one arrogant enough to annotate a textbook with what he believed to be 'better' methods than the author, could be the same man before you? My, it is enough to make me ask whether you know me at all. I would be offended, were it not that you were punished enough in that world for following my notes."

"What's that supposed to mean? I got good grades that year."

Severus rolled his eyes and looked at him in that annoyingly patronising manner, as if he expected the younger man to simply know what he meant without any explanation, and it was enough to force Harry to bite his tongue lest he speak out of turn. He sometimes felt that their friendship was rather like Hermione and Ron's; they were able to get on well when the effort was put in, but it was all too easy to slip into outright arguments and bickering, as both always knew what buttons to press and how best to insult the other without trying.

"I wrote those notes as I already mastered the basics," said Severus. "I already knew the techniques that the author sort to imbue, as such there was no harm in my 'cheating' and using far quicker and easier alternatives. By skipping the method ascribed by the author, you skipped learning many transferable skills that would be invaluable to you in other potion recipes at a later date. I hope Miss Granger chastised you for unethical behaviour."

"Yeah, she kind of did," replied Harry with a laugh. "Do you ever miss it? I know you would have preferred to teach Defence lessons, but you were admittedly pretty good with a cauldron. You even made Remus his Wolfsbane for a whole year."

"Let us pay for your books. We can discuss our world more in detail over dinner."

"Oh, yeah, because Madam Puddifoot's was too inappropriate."

He was silenced by Severus' sharp glare. The older man seemed equal parts teasing and irritated, as he had once upon an Occlumency lesson some time ago and in some other place, and Harry wondered whether sometimes Severus secretly appreciated his humour. Severus – for once – did not mock him or dismiss him, but instead gave an exaggerated expression of surprise and innocence, before he gestured to the door back to the muggle portion of the shop. It was Harry's time to roll his eyes, as he tried to decipher Severus' expression.

"We must eat sometime, Potter," said Severus.

"I suppose you're right," replied Harry.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"Why are we here, Potter?"

The hallways of Hogwarts were quite oppressive. There was a layer of dust on nearly every surface, whilst the few books and papers were quite sun damaged, and the air was so humid that it felt suffocating. It felt like every footstep echoed loudly around the halls, enough that it almost seemed as if people were walking alongside them, but there were no signs of ghosts or people or even magical creatures. The only life came from the insects, nestled into odd corners and webs that seemed unforgivable proportions.

It was far removed from the hustle and bustle of life, and Harry – despite never truly living through it – felt a great sense of longing for the duels in corridors, the first-years panicking as they got lost, and the laughter from the common rooms. He missed the cheers and cries of students, just as he missed the need to remember passwords and late-night practises, and he wondered what feelings the building must have evoked from a man like Severus. The black-haired man looked somewhat pained since their arrival, almost lost in thought, and many memories must have been brought to the forefront.

They stood on the seventh floor in the left corridor, opposite a strange tapestry whose meaning that Harry somewhat forgot, especially when the history lessons in that world were far more boring than those in their current school. There was a door across from it, almost directly in fact. Severus likely didn't think anything about it, because there was little way for any student to memorise every single door or room during their time at Hogwarts, but even less so to remember it some two decades onwards. Harry drew in a deep breath.

"This is – er – the Room of Requirements," said Harry.

Severus lifted an eyebrow suspiciously. The door likely looked like any other, which wasn't to mention that the room was practically unknown to everyone before the fifth year of the other Harry, where Dobby kindly provided all the information about the room they needed, and it was possible that Severus never even heard of it until that moment. Severus ran his eyes up and down the younger man, as he looked with a clear scepticism, and it forced Harry to look away, uncomfortable with the visual examination.

"I have never heard of such a room," said Severus.

"The elves used to call it the 'Come and Go Room'," explained Harry. "It used to be that you would walk past it a few times, thinking about what you needed, and it would make it appear for you to use. It was pretty useful in my stories. We used it to hide your potions book in my sixth year, because you figured out what was going on and wanted it back. I was pretty surprised to find it was still down in the dungeons, to be honest."

"Are you, indeed?" Severus rolled his eyes and stepped closer to the door. "If you never attended this school, you would never have taken potions class, which means the book would have remained in the storage cupboard. I – for one – am glad of this. It is quite a relief to be reunited with my old possession. Now, again, why are we here, Harry?"

"Its default state is something like a storage room. The only Horcrux you guys couldn't find was the diadem, right? I can't be certain, as I've not seen how my story ends; I pieced together a few clues, though . . . I thought it might be in here. Worth a look, right?"

"Seeing as we have found nothing but an old book? We have nothing to lose."

"If we can destroy that last one, at least we know he's definitely gone."

It was perhaps the only real upside to their visit, aside from nostalgia and the introduction into the magical world. There was very little that remained in the castle of any value; even the books were moth-eaten and the cauldrons somewhat rusty, and there was certainly no sign of how they might return magic to their realm. The strange thing was that the air sort of rang with a presence, as if leftover traces of spells and potions lingered and left vibrations all around, and it was almost enough to make him believe it could all be okay.

"So this room – with magic – could be anything?" Severus asked.

"Yeah," said Harry. "I read a book a while ago, _The Aleph_ , and it kind of reminds me of that in a way. My visions remind me of that, too; you guys made me think I was crazy for so long, but it was all real . . . here it is, finally. Do you want to go first?"

"After you, Harry. You seem to know more than I do."

"Thanks for that sarcasm, sir."

Harry rolled his eyes, as he caught the smirk on Severus' lips. He was fairly certain that he was being teased, but he learned that it was best to ignore such teasing, as it often easily escalated into arguments when he retaliated in any form. It was easier to walk past Severus and open the door, although he did settle for a surreptitious glare in the other man's direction, but the door was stuck through years of disuse and was almost impossible to move alone. He may have been healthier than the other him, but he was still slight and thin.

It was Severus' turn to roll his eyes. The older man pulled at his sleeves slightly, so that each one inched up and one in particular revealed a hint of an old Dark Mark, and he pushed past Harry in order to take a hold of the door and used his shoulder to open it. Harry bit his lip nervously and swallowed hard, quite amazed that Severus could hide such strength, and suddenly the door was wrenched open to reveal a large dust cloud. It was suffocating. The wave of dust and dirt and debris was enough to cause a coughing fit in both men, whilst Harry wafted the air desperately to try and clear the dirt away. It was unbearable.

"I assume this room was once self-cleaning," said Severus.

"I'd guess so," replied Harry, as his eyes streamed. "It was always spotless in my visions; I guess it makes sense that a room used to store _everything_ would get pretty filthy pretty quickly, too bad we don't have any magic to clear it out, huh?"

They stepped inside and took in the sights; the room itself was almost impossibly large, so that it seemed to stretch on forever and contained more items than Harry thought possible, and he couldn't help but look around in absolute awe. He didn't notice Severus walk on ahead, as the other man weaved his way between aisle of towering piles, but he did notice the way that the dust shimmered and glittered as it fell through the air and settled below. It was strange to think they were the first people in this room for nearly sixteen years.

There were pieces of broken furniture stacked haphazardly, along with various trunks filled to the brim with hats and cloaks, and a strange stuffed troll sat in a far corner. The piles of books looked ready to collapse with a single touch, whilst the broomsticks looked like they had things living inside their bristles, and there were random pieces of armour next to a set of dominoes, which wasn't to mention the banjo and trophies and cages. He wondered whether there could be any treasures amongst the junk. Severus seemed to be fascinated by some broken vials up ahead, along with what looked like potions and ingredients, which made him wonder whether there was more to the room than he first assumed.

"Did you find something, Severus?"

Severus gave a subtle movement, almost like a jump or a wince, but one that spoke of surprise and perhaps something close to contempt. He looked at Harry severely, as if he sought to weigh him up, and it was then – as Harry thought upon what he said – he realised he called the older man by his forename. It wasn't unusual, but it was the first time that he had done so in Severus' presence. Luckily, Severus ignored it with a hiss of breath, whilst Harry simply blushed and scratched at his neck nervously.

"Sorry," said Harry. "I probably oughtn't –"

"You may call me as you wish," muttered Severus. "We are no longer teacher and student; I consider you something akin to an acquaintance, not to mention that you perhaps know – for better or worse – more of my past than anyone except Albus. If you wish to call me Severus, you may do so. Simply refrain from that name on the school premises, lest other students copy you and dare to assume that I am their equal. Now, what do you see here?"

"Cracked vials oozing horrible slime? I'd guess someone made an illegal potion or one against the school rules, probably stashed it in here so Slughorn or Dumbledore didn't catch wind of it. I bet you did the same as a student . . . loads of them messed around with magic and spells without permission. Hermione made a Polyjuice in our second year."

"Do you perhaps confuse me with your bully of a father?" Severus gave a sneer and shook his head. "I was not one to brew without the knowledge of my head of house. The danger of an incorrectly assembled potion does not bear thinking about, I can assure you."

"Leaving my father out of this," said Harry coldly, "what _is_ the potion?"

The roll of Severus' eyes made it seem as if he were annoyed by the response. There were times that Harry thought the older man _wanted_ arguments and confrontation, as if it somehow reinforced his view of himself as a 'victim' or enabled him to take some 'control' of the situation, and he simply drew in a deep breath and waved his pale hand at the vials. It forced Harry to look at them, although he had no idea what was inside them.

"Poison in its purest form," said Severus.

Harry took an instinctive step back. It was then he noticed there was a rather pungent smell from the seeping liquid, which wasn't to mention how unnatural it looked, as if it were made of tar or something worse, and he bit his lip in nervous thought. He wasn't sure what could be worse: that someone intentionally made poison, or that someone accidentally made poison in an attempt to manufacture something else. That probably explained why Severus was adamant on always working under supervision back as a student.

"Better not to touch it, then?"

"Quite," said Severus with a smile. "Now, I do believe I see the diadem just ahead. It may be worth our while to retrieve it, so that we may take it back to the Order. The sooner it is destroyed, the sooner we can be certain that the Dark Lord has gone for good."

"Yeah, about that . . . I was thinking," replied Harry. "I was a Horcrux in that world, I'm sure of it. It'd probably explain why my aunt and uncle were so – you know – _bad_ at being 'good' people, because I was probably corrupting them with my presence. If a Horcrux can have a bad effect just being near it, what would eleven years _living_ with it mean? There was a prophecy that 'neither can live while the other survives', so I wondered . . ."

"Wonderfully eloquent as always, Harry. Please make your point."

They walked quietly together, as Harry tried to compose his thoughts, and soon they stood before the diadem. Severus carefully – with great reverence – lifted it in both hands and held it between the two of them, where he turned it gently so that it caught in the light and reflected the specks of floating dust back at them, and Harry couldn't help but smile at how beautiful it looked. There was a hint of a faint inscription upon it: _wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure_. It was definitely Ravenclaw's diadem.

It bore an oval-shaped blue stone as its centrepiece, whilst the design of the metal looked something almost similar to a raven, but it was discoloured and in clear need of a good cleaning, as it was tarnished to say the least. There was an ugly bust of a warlock nearby, which Harry was half-tempted to leave the diadem on top, but he fought the urge and simply looked at it carefully, until Severus pocketed it into the side of his satchel. Harry watched as the diadem disappeared into the depths with the potions book and stray finds, before he realised he couldn't put his question off any longer. He asked simply:

"You have to destroy the Horcruxes to make sure Voldermort is dead, right?"

Severus pursed his lips, as his long fingers traced a line upon his satchel and returned to inspecting objects around them. This was the first time that Severus knew of this room, so he was as likely interested in its contents as Harry, but he seemed to be avoiding the question and his brow furrowed in a noticeable way. It reminded Harry of when – in some other time and place – he asked Slughorn about the nature of a Horcrux, and he felt curious as to how Severus would react at such a question. It was meant innocently enough.

"In this world, it is merely a safe measure," said Severus.

"Yeah, but not in that world," added Harry. "What if – what if instead of making me a _part_ of him, he failed and whatever magic was at work _backfired_? I'd have to die in that world in order to make him killable, so what if I need to die in this world for magic to return? It's possible – when Voldermort died – our magic clashed somehow, maybe magic was sealed away somehow, but maybe it was sealed in _me_. If we could just –"

"Do not say one more word." Severus slammed his fist down. "I betrayed your mother. I was even willing to let _you_ die in order to save _her_. I was a bad man, one that will spend every waking moment trying to put right the wrongs that can never be righted, and perhaps – in that regard – we share something more than you realise. You are not the only martyr."

"I'm not _trying_ to be a martyr! I'm just trying to fix what I broke!"

"You did not break this, you selfless, arrogant, bone-headed -!"

Severus pointed his finger in Harry's face. The action was so abrupt that it actually caught Harry's glasses, which knocked them askew and sent Harry stumbling back a few feet, and he paled considerably in surprise of this sudden violence. It shouldn't have surprised him, as he always knew Severus to be a very physical and aggressive man, but he couldn't help but feel a little betrayed nonetheless. He thought they had grown to be closer than that, perhaps even trusted one another. Instead, Severus looked close to exploding.

"The Dark Lord is at fault," snapped Severus.

"Yes, but if my mother's magic protected me, maybe it rebounded his magic back at him," pleaded Harry. "It's – it's possible that the two forces made a stalemate, froze or locked away all magic somehow, and instead of a Horcrux . . . it turned me into a vault. I might not hold a piece of soul, but actually _be_ the lock that stops magic from –"

"And what if that is true? You would _die_ simply to make thousands of lives more convenient? I swore – on the day that your mother died – I would do right by her and protect the child that she died to protect, and I have lived my life according to that promise. The first time I saw you was the day I saw your parents within you, but I have watched you grow from a baby into an adult, and now I see that you are more than the sum of your parts. I am as emotionally invested in you as I am any other comrade, as such I will not let you die so needlessly."

Harry heard the anger and desperation in Severus' voice. The other man spoke so vehemently that small speckles of spit struck his face uncomfortably, but every flinch and blink just seemed to force Severus closer to him. It was that he wanted to die or even had a death wish, but – as they stood in a room so central to his other self – he wondered whether he was the cause and solution to the lack of magic. If he could fix it, shouldn't he?

"It doesn't have to be permanent," he said lamely.

"So we stop your heart for but an instant?" Severus sneered. "There is too much to risk. Your mother died to give you the greatest gift that anyone can give: _life_. Do not throw her gift back at her so thoughtlessly, especially when there is no real need. This world is an improvement."

"No, it's just a world without war. Okay, so a few people might survive, but how many people will die instead? It was magic that kept Arthur's wounds from ripping open, just as it was magic that saved Ron from being poisoned, and it was magic that could have been used alongside muggle medicine to cure diseases and injuries and -! You know what was wrong with the wizarding community? The vanity. They thought themselves so _superior_ to muggles that they refused to learn from them!

"Hermione pointed out to me that – whilst Arthur was questioning me about the purpose of a rubber duck – muggles were already curing tuberculosis, understanding the physics behind the universe, travelling to the moon, and working to save endangered species. What was the wizarding world doing? Making Christmas toppers dance! Maybe – maybe we _needed_ this time without magic to learn what life without magic is like, so we could appreciate the intelligence that muggles actually have, and maybe we can learn to _grow and evolve_ , so we aren't as stagnate as we were hundreds of years ago. If we had that magic, we could grow."

The room suddenly felt tense. Harry let out a breath he hadn't realised held for so long, as he dug his hands into his hair and gripped tightly, and he felt – with that exhale of breath – a sense of relief unlike any other. There was a frustration in knowing that muggles died in his visions, when they could have been helped, and maybe a co-operation and coming out would have led to both worlds thriving in ways no one could even imagine. He shook his head over and over, until he kicked at the floor and began to calm down.

Severus rolled back his shoulders and stood tall, so that Harry noticed how he carried himself well and wore a rather healthy weight, and he realised just how much stress the 'other' Severus must have been under to look so thin. In this world, he looked far from muscular and far from scrawny, so that he was almost a happy medium, and yet he still looked intimidating as his face paled and nostrils flared. It was hard to ignore how quiet Severus became; the quiet anger was more frightening than the loud, so that he found himself looking at the other man's hands and tense forearms for some clues as to how he might act.

"Are you _quite_ done?" Severus asked.

"No, no I'm not!" Harry said with watering eyes. "I saw Cedric die, just as I saw Sirius die, and I saw Hagrid bloodied, you devastated, and Dumbledore murdered. I've seen more suffering than anyone my age should ever have to suffer. I don't want a single person to _ever_ have to endure any of that. Whatever happened here . . . it spared them that pain, which is great, but it also denied them their _identities_. Don't they deserve that magic back?"

"You think yourself worthy of that decision? You are able to say who must live and die, all in order to give back to a few people a sense of self? Your war might have stopped blood supremacy, helped magical creatures get equal rights, and restored the reputations of men otherwise considered traitors . . . magic now would just be back to a status quo."

"You can't _know_ that! Sixteen years is long enough to appreciate the muggle world, long enough to change a way of thinking! You should see how Draco is with Hermione; if just one person can get over themselves, why can't others? Why can't things change?"

"The more things change, the more they stay the same."

Harry let out a loud cry, as he stamped his foot and kicked at a stray ball. It was flat and looked like no ball he ever saw before, so that it simply fell limply a few feet away from him and dropped at the hem of Severus' robe. There was a flutter of material so that a bare ankle was spotted for a moment, until Severus let out a growl of frustration and stormed forward, as he took a hold of Harry's upper arms and held him in place. The hold was firm and painful.

They stood close. The proximity was a little unnerving for Harry, as he swallowed hard and grew somewhat calmer, and he remembered that – no matter what – Severus never actively hurt him and always protected him. He drew in a deep breath, whilst Severus leaned in closer with a venomous expression, but the actions of the other man only made him feel all the more nervous, as he could practically feel his breath and hear his breathing. They were both panting, both filled with emotion, and he was no longer sure what to do or say.

It was then that Severus let go, albeit so violently that Harry shook where he stood. He regained his balance and felt his arms sting; Severus paced back and forth for several long moments, until he stopped and glared down at Harry. There was little else to be said. They both knew the other to be as stubborn as themselves, enough that the other wouldn't back down in their beliefs, but the possibility was there: death might mean the rebirth of magic.

"Well, we aren't going to find anything here," said Harry.

"Indeed, it may be better that we return tomorrow after some rest," murmured Severus. "Let us hope that your head may clear with some sleep. If you die now, the Dark Lord will have succeeded even in death. I – for one – do not wish for you to die."

"Who'd have thought . . . the two of us as friends?"

Severus rolled his eyes and walked away. It was hard not to smile, as Harry raised a hand to hide his mouth from sight, but – as he turned to face the other – he saw Severus pause beside the door with a look almost like resignation. There was an awkward silence between them, as Severus likely searched for the right words, and it took all of Harry's strength not to press for some form of response. The fear that he ruined whatever friendship they had was real.

"In a world of infinite possibilities," said Severus, "all things are possible."

"Too bad you don't believe in infinite possibilities."

Severus merely left with a smile.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"What is that thing, anyway?"

Ron pointed at the small box on Harry's desk. The cardboard was so old that it was held together by will alone, so that the glue was starting to unstuck and the material was yellowing, and inside sat several stone-like objects. There was quite a smell from them, although it was a subtle scent compared to what it may have been, and they were the strangest shade of black that Harry could imagine, enough that they didn't feel 'real' in a way. He glanced up from his bed and adjusted his glasses. It was an awkward feeling.

He looked at Hermione, who sat at the side of his desk and flicked through some wizarding books that he bought especially for her, whilst Ron perched on the end of his bed and made his way through a pile of chocolate frogs and sugar quills. The two of them avoided looking at one another; there was a tension there, as if either they had fallen out or realised some deeper feeling, and he remembered how in some other place they were very much in love. It was possible they may have fallen for one another down in Diagon Alley, but equally as possible they had fallen for other people and actually fought again.

"It's a bezoar, Ronald," said Hermione coolly.

The redheaded youth furrowed his brow, as he gave Hermione a cold look in return. It made it perfectly clear that they were no longer friends, or at least no longer on such close speaking terms, and Harry felt a spark of gratitude that he chose Hogwarts over Diagon Alley. True, the trip with Snape was fraught with awkward moments and several arguments, but – for the most part – he learned a lot from the older man and their friendship was able to grow somewhat. They challenged one another. They understood one another.

Ron stood up and stretched his arms, whilst several golden wrappers fell to the floor, and Hermione – true to her usual self – let out a sound of frustration, where she evidently fought the urge to get up and tidy up for them. It was enough to make Harry smile, as it brought back memories of how Severus criticised him each morning for the mess that Harry left his room in the inn, unable to accept it being an 'organised mess' as an excuse.

"Yeah? What's a bezoar when it's at home?"

"It's – er – supposed to cure most poisons," said Harry. "An antidote."

"It was mentioned several times in Harry's stories," interrupted Hermione. "I believe the latest one was where Harry saved you from an accidental poisoning, so I'm surprised that you didn't remember such a thing. It was actually in the book on advanced potions that Harry gave me; that reminds me, you must thank Professor Snape for recommending this book! It's such a wonderful read. I'm almost sad we didn't get to study potions."

"Why? Chemistry was bad enough," Ron muttered. "Anyway, it's not as though we've ever _seen_ a bezoar. How was I meant to know what one looked like? It just looks like some old stone! I don't get – out of everything – why Harry brought that back for, anyway."

"Why don't you ask him, Ronald? He's sitting right there."

"Why don't _you_ go just make out with Draco?"

Hermione stood up at once. The look on her face made it clear that she was hurt, but perhaps also embarrassed by Ron's needless comment that made public what should have been private, and her eyes began to water with unshed tears. It was curious, as he didn't believe that what Ron said was true in any way. Ron likely meant it as an insult, likely in reference to something he had yet to tell Harry about, and the tension in the air was almost palpable. There was nothing Harry could say or do in response, except look on in confusion.

It was then that Hermione stormed out of the room, as she dropped her books onto the table beside the bezoar, and – from the force of the drop – something rattled from inside Harry's desk drawer and made him wince in concern. The young woman slammed the door shut behind her, as she began to give audible cries, and it was hard not to feel sorry for her. Credit where it was due, Ron had the decency to look somewhat ashamed and gazed sheepishly down at his feet, as he muttered that she overreacted to a simple comment, and Harry could only shake his head in exhaustion at their recent bickering.

"Er, what was that about?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged and moved to sit next to Harry on the bed, where he kicked off his shoes and leaned back with his head upon his hands. It was a casual position, one that reminded Harry of conversations spent with Dudley, and he felt a familiar brotherly bond with Ron, one that made him smile and grateful for his friend's company. Unfortunately, Ron looked rather miserable and pouted in a way that only he ever managed to make work.

"You want to ask her that, mate," said Ron.

"Did something happen?" Harry asked. "You were getting on fine last week."

"Yeah, well, that was last week, wasn't it? You'll never guess what she went and did! We were in Diagon Alley, looking at all the shops and stuff, and we ran into _Draco Malfoy_. He started doing this whole sob story about not ever properly being in the muggle areas, whilst Hermione kept asking about magic stuff, so she actually went off with him! She didn't come back until night! Said he showed and explained all the wizarding stuff, and then they went off to some museums and shops in the city. Can't believe it!"

"Well, I guess it's good they get on, isn't it?" Harry shrugged. "I know he's an absolute weasel, but he grew up in wizarding communities and being told about magic, so it kind of makes sense they'd be interested in one another . . . _not like that_! I mean as friends. Hermione can show him the muggle world, especially London, and he can show her all about the wizarding community. It seems a fair trade-off, really."

"Oh, yeah, because the _best_ person to learn from is the son of a Death Eater. What are you on, Harry? Draco is just going to hurt her or betray her! I heard his dad calling her a 'mudblood' the other day. Asked my mum what he meant. It wasn't a compliment."

"You know that you can just ask her out, if you're interested, right? Hermione never fell out with you, even when you were all over Lavender, although I wouldn't have blamed her if she did." Harry gave a sigh and shrugged. "I know what it's like to like someone and not be able to say anything, so if you _can_ say something . . . go for it. It's better that way."

He looked across to the bezoar on the desk and thought back. It was strange how one difference back as a child could change so much, enough that he felt a sort of ache in his chest unlike any other, and he felt almost at a loss. There was no point in wondering whether he would have felt that same way in some other time and place, because all that mattered was here and now and the relationships he made, and so he prayed that Ron would understand that in turn. The last thing he wanted was for Ron to lose out on happiness out of pride.

"That's the thing," said Ron. "I _don't_ fancy her."

Harry rolled his eyes and thought back to his visions, where he saw how Hermione and Ron forged a strong bond and truly loved one another, and it was hard to imagine what could have changed to make them feel only a platonic friendship. He looked at Ron; the other teenager stared ahead at a fixed point, with a somewhat confused expression, and he was gnawing at his lip in a rather curious manner. Harry looked away again and shook his head.

"You could have fooled me," said Harry.

"She reminds me too much of mum," said Ron with a cringe. "I know she's alright and that, but I'm not sure I could live with her bickering all the time. It's good fun every now and again, but what you look for in a pal isn't what you want in a girlfriend."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's true . . ."

Harry's smile faded slightly, as he realised just how true was Ron's statement. He felt grateful for the opportunity to forge friendships, as well as to explore his identity and some romantic relationships, and he knew – more than he could in some other place – that sometimes it was easy to conflate platonic love with the romantic. It was possible that Ron and Hermione felt something similar, especially as circumstances were so different here, and maybe it was better that way. He certainly hoped it could be better.

"How about you?" Ron asked. "You said you like someone."

"Oh, it's – it's no one," said Harry. "It's just a crush, really. It'll wear off soon."

"So long as it's not Ginny! No offence, but I don't think you could survive that! I love my sister and all, but she's pretty damned strong and she acts like a dog with a bone, won't give up on something once she's got it. I swear she's part rottweiler. I can see why you're such good friends, because she's got a real spark in her and is great at sports, but you'd never win a fight and I'd kind of be scared for you. Luna would suit you, though."

"No, I don't think so. Look, I've had a lot of time to sort of . . . _explore_ things in this world, so I know what I want and what I don't want. Ginny is amazing, so I think – in some other place – we could have been really happy together, but it's actually a guy I'm interested in at the moment. I find he inspires me to be better than what I am, I like him a lot."

"So still bi then, huh?"

Harry bit his lip so as not to laugh, before he rubbed nervously at his neck and looked around his room. There was a new poster on his wall of a famous Quidditch team, along with a few banners belonging to Gryffindor and Slytherin, and the books about magic lined the top shelf of his bookcase. It was strange to think that there was a whole other world out there, one that maybe they could in future belong, and in the air a CD by _The Weird Sisters_ played a light tune that would get stuck in his head all day.

"Still bi," he said with a smile.

They sat quietly for a few moments, or – at least – _Harry_ sat quietly as Ron began to recite a long list of names in an attempt to guess who the crush may be, which even disturbingly included himself and Neville towards the end. It would have been easier to tell his friend the truth, but the truth was that he didn't understand it enough himself to dare speak the name aloud. He knew it would have been impossible had magic never been erased, which made him question everything about his feelings; he wondered whether the foundation itself was a lie, whether his stubbornness in the other world led to him losing out on a real affection, and whether it really mattered either way. It was possible his feelings would fade away.

"So why the bezoar?" Ron asked.

"Huh?" Harry asked, startled out of thought. "What about it?"

"Well, it seems a strange souvenir," said Ron. "You brought back loads for me and Hermione, even got some stuff for Neville and Luna and Ginny, but you only got that for yourself. How come you didn't get something a bit cooler?"

"Severus and I found some old poisons in Hogwarts. I guess they just reminded me about how much magic can be both a lifesaver and a potentially fatal weapon, and the bezoar -? It can save you from pretty much any poison. It kind of reminds me of the better side of the magical world; it gives me hope that – when magic comes back – maybe we treat people like Remus and Firenze better, maybe even muggles, too."

"I guess we won't know, unless it happens. Fred and George eavesdropped on an Order meeting, overheard Severus saying that you couldn't find anything to bring magic back, so I guess things are kind of what they are. Isn't it better this way? No one dies, bad guys are still in prison, and no one has to fight. Can't complain, right?"

"I guess you're right," said Harry.

"The way I see it, what happened was kind of like the bezoar and the poison," said Ron. "In one world everything got poisoned, but in this world there was a bezoar in the fact magic was stopped, so everyone got to survive. What good's poison ever done?"

"Yeah, you're right . . . what good has it ever done, right?"

Harry looked to his desk drawer across the room. He felt a cold feeling wash over him, almost like someone had poured cold water over bare skin, and he swallowed hard to stifle the fear that was beginning to arise inside him. There wasn't much that he could say in argument, but there was the realisation that magic was what defined their community and kept their culture alive, and – without it – that part of their society was slowly dying.

"Maybe it's better this way," lied Harry.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

' _Petunia called. Apparently, Harry didn't go home.'_

' _He's probably fine,_ ' said Sirius. _'That boy knows the trains like the back of his hands! I asked Harry his plans before he left; he said he wanted to stop by a friend's house before going home, somewhere up in Cokeworth.'_

' _You are aware that's in the Midlands, aren't you? He'd have to take a train several hours out of his way, transfer in Birmingham New Street, and even then I'm not too sure there are many direct services that far. I dread to think how much that must cost. It's nowhere_ near _Surrey, Sirius. Please tell me that you asked more questions. What friend is he seeing?'_

' _Well, I thought he was visiting Ron's family. They're down in Devon, aren't they?'_

' _Yes. "Down" in Devon. That's south, nowhere near the midlands.'_

' _Don't worry. I'm sure he'd call if anything were wrong.'_

* * *

Spinner's End was a place of shame.

It was not that anything particularly bad happened there, except – of course – bad memories and negative associations, but simply that Severus felt that there was an image to be maintained and this was not an image he wanted connected with him. The houses were so old that they may have well been ripped from the pages of a World War II textbook, so that one could almost hear the air raid sirens and smell the smog in the air.

The streets were still cobblestone, despite the 'health and safety' acts of recent decades, and the rows upon rows of dilapidated houses were rather unfit for renting, which meant several fell into abandoned states of disuse. There was often smoke in the air, whilst the river nearby was polluted and too filthy to even consider paddling or playing within, and the lamplights were more broken than practical, so that a vague shadow of darkness clung to the streets even in the better of weather and times. Severus felt lucky that his work teaching within London required more time away than within this street, but even then he must some times return.

A teacher's wage was not enough to justify the extravagance of a new house in a good area, at least when he was required to rent property in the most expensive of all cities during term times, and it was not worth the effort to try and save for a new home when he barely used the one he had as things stood. It was occupied during the holidays only. There were no surviving family to entertain, no spouse or children to consider, and the few friends he had would expect him to visit them and not vice versa. It served a need, but that was all.

It was then he heard a knock upon the door.

Severus folded his newspaper in half and threw it lazily upon his side-table, before he quickly stood up and walked the few feet to the front door. He opened it with the latch still on; on the other side stood an all too familiar face, albeit one soaked to the skin and that shivered in the cold, and he felt he had no choice but to open the door fully. Severus rolled his eyes and closed the door in order to remove the latch, as he waved in his 'guest' and made a mental note to call Petunia at the first chance that presented itself. No doubt, she would worry.

"What brings you here, Harry?"

He kept his gaze fixed firmly on the younger man. It did not take a genius to know that he would likely be judged for his living state; this was a boy whose godfather lived in a large and expensive property, whilst his guardians lived in a quaint suburban dream, and this room would not suit his expectations and standards. The walls were covered in books, whilst the furniture was old enough to provide great discomfort on the shortest of usage, and there was dust in the air. There could be no hiding the neglect. Severus sighed.

"You are wet," he said.

"Well, er, I got lost," replied Harry. "I tried to take a taxi from the station, but I didn't have enough money on me to get all the way. You wouldn't believe how useless the map app on my phone was, and no one wanted to stop and give me directions . . . ah, sorry about that."

"Considering that I was not expecting any guests today, I cannot say that I am in the least bit put out by your 'late' status or difficult journey, but – with that said – I simply cannot have you risking illness with such wet attire. Come. There is a small electric fire in the kitchen. It may not be enough to remove all the damp, but it will do enough to prevent sickness."

Severus turned quickly, enough that he felt his robes flutter about his ankles and billow out behind him, and he led the way through into the open kitchen. It was a rather small affair, with white cupboard and dark floor, and the blinds were always drawn and thus kept the room in a perpetual state of shade. There was very little to offer in the way of guests, but that was the way that Severus preferred things. Fresh produce and luxury items would only go to waste before they had a chance to be used, and Severus had plain tastes in any case.

"May I offer you a drink?" Severus asked.

He waved to the firewhiskey on the counter, as he stepped across the room and leaned against the edge of the counter with arms folded, and Harry – as he dropped his satchel to the ground with a clattering of its contents – stood over the electric fire by the back door. The younger man appeared somewhat pale, whilst his lip was gnawed to the point it looked plump and torn in places, and Severus quirked an eyebrow in concern. It was possible he was frightened.

"Not quite legal yet," said Harry with a smile.

"You are legal in the wizarding world, as for the muggle world . . . one year shall not make the greatest of differences, I am sure. It will warm your bones, as well as give you the nerve you need to face school the day after tomorrow. I assume you are packed."

"Er, yes and no," replied Harry suspiciously, as Severus grabbed two tumblers. "I may have gotten side-tracked thinking about Schrödinger's cat; if the cat's either alive or dead regardless of what you do, it doesn't make much sense to prepare for either outcome, does it? You can't prepare for an unknown. You can only really properly prepare once you know what you're dealing with, because otherwise you're acting blindly."

"Do you mean to tell me that you are questioning whether to continue schooling?" Severus walked across to place a full tumbler in Harry's hands. "You are not blindly dealing with the unknown, Harry, but two outcomes that are most definitely known, even if either is not certain. You can prepare for both. This is surely not beyond your abilities?"

"You were the one that told me never to make assumptions. It's funny, because you always made judgements about me and yet always were quick to get annoyed when I made them about you. I thought we were past that. This isn't -! This isn't _about_ school, Severus."

"Then why – pray tell – did you traverse half the country to see me?"

"Because you would have been the best potions master alive!"

Severus was quite taken aback. He wandered back to the white counter, which gave him time to compose himself as his back was turned to the younger man, and then stood against the cheap wood with a furrow in his brow. Harry looked so serious and so passionate about what he said, as he leaned forward and ran a hand through his wet hair, but his hands wrung and fiddled with the hem of his jacket, which indicated he was nervous about his admission. There was a strong possibility this was about his wishing to revive magic.

The tumbler in his hand felt cold, as condensation gathered around the outside. It was enough to make him curse the lack of central heating, although he could never justify the cost of paying bills for a place he used for a mere twelve weeks a year at most, and even the single-paned windows rattled in the wind and blew out quite the draught. There was a frustration that Harry was still seventeen and a student. If the other man had been a peer, he could have offered him the chance to shower and rest upstairs, but – as things stood – it would have been a most inappropriate suggestion. It was simply a shame that it came at a risk to his health.

It caused him to take a sip of the firewhiskey, which – ever since their magic faded – never tasted quite the same as the olden days, and he prayed for the day in which the former taste would return with its usual kick. He gave a long pause to consider what to say next, as his previous skills in potion making were a moot point. The very fact it was sixteen years since last brewing meant that his skills would be rusty, even if it were possible to recreate the potions of his past. Harry was acting very suspicious indeed.

"Potions can no longer be made," said Severus.

Harry rolled his eyes at the statement. It wasn't unusual for the other man to act so immaturely, but they had grown into something akin to a friendship in the past year or so, and he expected more than a roll of the eyes and a facial expression close to contempt. He fought back the anger that rose within, as he knew to chastise Harry would lead to an outright argument. It was all too easy to fall into old patterns, but a fight would not lead to answers; it would only deny him any form of explanation.

"I know that," muttered Harry.

"Then you can anticipate my next question," said Severus coldly.

"I have a plan, but I _don't_ want you to say _anything_. I know you won't agree, so let's not even go there, okay? I'm – I'm going to go ahead with it anyway, so I figured it was best to do it where there was someone I could trust around, especially someone who knew how to counteract poisons and make potions . . . I just – I just need you to make sure I'll be okay. You said not to do anything that would risk my life, so I just thought that –"

"You're talking about ending your life temporarily, aren't you?"

The look on Harry's face said it all. He became considerably pale, as he looked sheepishly at the floor in something akin to shame, and Severus – livid beyond all reason – felt his hands clench into fists tight enough to draw blood upon his palms. It was hard to ignore the beating of his heart; it was fast enough to be audible in his ears, hard enough to cause a pain within his chest, and he felt his mouth run dry at the sensation of fury. He slammed his tumbler hard upon the counter, so that whiskey spilled over the edges and onto the surface.

"I will not be a part of this," said Severus.

"I – I stole a bezoar from your office, when you were looking for your book! It should cure pretty much any poison, shouldn't it? I can't remember exactly, because technically it never happened, but I'm _sure_ Ron's heart stopped for a second until –"

"You are far from my favourite student. You are also as far from a charge as I can imagine." Severus clenched his hands tightly. "I am loath to admit that you have become something of an . . . acquaintance. There are very few that know my past, even fewer that would look part those errors and judge me for my potential, and it is thus why I shall not risk your life. If you die on my watch, should one of the few people that believe in some delusion of goodness within soul perish, it shall prove me to be nothing but the monster I know."

"That scares you, huh? Well, it scares me, too! I'm not _trying_ to put you in a bad position or put any pressure on you, Severus! If anything bad happens, it'll be entirely my choice and on me. I'm just trying to minimalise the risk as best as I can, because this way maybe – _just maybe_ – we can bring back magic and make things better for everyone! Just _think about it_ for a moment! If it's my fault that magic disappeared to –"

"I cannot have this discussion again! It is not your fault! It is not your fault any more than it is your mother or your father's, those that died for you were also a part of the process that caused the loss of magic to our people! You are being arrogant, self-entitled -!"

Severus caught himself before he could say something he would regret. He gave a dark look to Harry, who was already on his knees and searching through his satchel, but Severus couldn't bear to watch someone that he foolishly grew to care about seek some method of self-destruction. It was possible that Harry wouldn't listen to him, as there was still some strain to their relationship, but he believed that Harry would listen to his family.

"I have had enough of this," snapped Severus.

He stormed back into the living room, where he grabbed the old and wired phone from its place on the side-table, and began to search his memory for the number of Petunia. It was one that he rarely had cause to use, but there was such a deep frustration in dealing with a man so intent on hurting himself and potentially those around him, one deep enough that he refused to deal with such a ridiculous matter and hoped someone with more patience could take his place. Harry needed to be shown sense, but he clearly would not listen to Severus' reason.

The phone rang for nearly a minute. It felt that it went on for an eternity, until eventually the answering machine kicked in and a familiar voice sounded, and suddenly Severus cursed that he never felt a need to obtain further numbers for that family. There was a strong beating of his heart, as fury overtook him, and – on the sound of that infuriating beep – he slammed the phone down onto its receiver and cursed loudly. A loud noise echoed about the room.

Every item scattered.

Severus saw the effects before he felt the cause. Every book, photo frame, and newspaper . . . every stray pen, ornament, and remote . . . they were all thrown violently against the walls of the room, so that they smashed or fell into a state of chaos. The tingle of a nostalgic feeling raced through his fingertips, one that reminded him of the random ejaculations of magical outbursts often experienced in youth, and suddenly a cold wave of fear ran through him. It was enough to make him step back and hunch over.

" _That foolish, selfish, short-sighted -_!"

Severus ran through to the kitchen, where he saw Harry slumped upon the floor. The younger man sat with a vial of black poison, likely stolen from the Room of Requirement, whilst several bezoar stone sat in a box beside him. One bezoar was in his hand, perched precariously a mere inch from his open lips, when the poison evidently acted too quickly and knocked him unconscious before he could administer the antidote. Severus rolled Harry quickly into the recovery position, as he took the stone from his fingertips.

"Damn you, Harry," he whispered.

Time seemed to stand still. He managed to slide the bezoar into Harry's mouth, but the younger man's cheeks were cold and his mouth was dry, and – when Severus pulled back his eyelids to look into his eyes – they were dilated and unfocussed. The fear he felt was far too real, as it brought him back to a night so long ago in which Lily died, and the idea of watching her son die was more than he could bear. He tried to force Harry to swallow, but he had no idea whether he was too late. Harry didn't move.

"I refuse to let you die like this," said Severus.

The only thing he could do was to wait.


	11. Chapter 11

**P** **art Three:  
** **Chapter Eleven**

Harry felt the world spin . . .

There was a light somewhere in the room. It stung his eyes, enough that there was a sharp pain and he felt them water, and it made it hard to focus once he managed to strain them open to gauge his surroundings. The room was blurred; he was forced to blink to clear away tears and gunk, whilst he felt the disorientating spinning return, and eventually he could make out a few shadows and shapes, enough to get a sense of his surroundings.

He appeared to be in an old bedroom, maybe a guestroom, as there was absolutely nothing in their to indicate someone's personal space. The sheets and covers felt rather cold against his skin, while he could feel a cool draught from a rather dingy window just to his left, and the only furniture inside were an old chest of drawers and a chair just to his right side. He struggled to remember how he got into this strange bed. It felt as if his head were being split into, until he felt obliged to raise a hand to his scar. He struggled for breath.

"I see you are awake," said a voice.

Harry looked towards the door opposite the bed, where a shadowy figure appeared. It took him longer than he would have liked to recognise the person; they carried a large tray of steaming pewter mugs, along with a tea-towel draped over a black sleeve, and they looked rather imposing in the shadows. How long had he been out? It was blatantly night now, as he suddenly realised that the sky outside was jet black and the light came from a lamp on the drawers, and he felt a wave of sleepiness that made his head spin. Severus stepped inside, although he kept the door wide open and kept a considerable space from the bed.

It took him a while to sit up. The pillows on the bed were rather flat, so much so that he was wondered how anyone could possibly sleep on them, and his body felt so weak that just to move each muscle caused a bout of pain in his joints. He also blushed to realise that someone had partially changed him; he was free from socks and shoes, as well as his shirt, and he felt rather naked in just his trousers. He pulled the duvet up with him, to cover his chest, as he felt around for his glasses. He needed to be able to see clearly.

"Er, how long was I out?"

He could _feel_ Severus roll his eyes, even if he couldn't see it. It was then he heard a whirring noise, almost like something being thrown through the air, and felt something fall firmly in his lap. It took him by surprise. The glasses were the first thing he saw, as he clumsily put them back on and looked carefully at what was apparently a tray filled with food and potions, and he actually felt a spark of hunger at the jam sandwiches. It didn't matter that the bread was barely defrosted, or that the jam felt more liquid than it ought, as there was a hunger so deep in his stomach that he could actually hear it churn and gurgle within.

"Can I – can I eat this?"

"I would not have given it to you otherwise," said Severus coldly. "I would recommend drinking the potion in the pewter mug to the left first, as this is a necessary part of removing what toxins are left in your body. Drink the second mug _after_ you have eaten. That potion should help aid digestion, flush your body, and provide enough nutrition and hydration to make sure that secondary health problems do not arise. Do you understand?"

"Left potion now, food comes second, right potion is last."

"Correct. Now I advise you to drink and eat."

Harry gave a small smile, as he realised that – for there to be potions before him – magic must have been returned in some form. The smile was quickly wiped from his lips by the foul and bitter taste of the potion, which was somehow reminiscent of sour milk and chilli peppers both at once, and the smell was like Dudley's socks after days of use. He very nearly refused to drink the rest, but Severus gave such a hiss of breath from the opposite side of the room that he gave in and drank it down. He felt ready to be sick afterwards.

"Couldn't you have added sugar?"

"To that potion?" Severus' lips twitched into a smirk. "I could have, as sugar would not have interacted with any of the ingredients, but I chose not to do so. You could have died, _Potter_. I think this the very _least_ you deserve for such reckless and selfish actions."

"I _told_ you! It wasn't reckless or selfish." Harry glared at him and shook his head. "It worked, didn't it? You used magic to send the tray my way, probably because you think it inappropriate to get too close to me, and you managed to make potions well enough to help me recover. I don't really want to talk about what could have happened if things went wrong, but at least things would have been better for everyone else."

"We can talk about that later. I shall insist to both Albus and your guardians that you receive counselling, as I do not think it right that a young man should risk his life for the convenience of others. Do you realise how devastated those around you would be? It was selfish. I shall not forgive you for this, nor shall I _ever_ allow you to act this way again."

"You – you think I'm suicidal or something?" Harry shook his head, as he picked up the top sandwich. "There's nothing wrong with me! This was just something I needed to do, but I _knew_ I would be okay! I'm fine, aren't I? I'm still here."

"You could have _died_ , you idiotic little -!"

Severus whipped his hand out into a strange manner. It took Harry a long moment to realise that he was holding a wand; it looked somewhat dusty and old in appearance, but it was still in excellent condition and could clearly still work well. The wand was black and quite long, enough that it looked almost like a graceful extension of Severus' body, and he held it in such a familiar way that it was as if he had never been without it. There was an intricate pattern around the handle, but one that he couldn't quite make out from the distance.

It took a moment for Severus to relax from his aggressive pose, although – even as he lowered his wand – he still kept it aimed in Harry's direction. He took two steps forward, until he stood at the foot of the bed, where he looked down at Harry and watched him as he ate slowly and carefully, as each swallow hurt his throat. The more that Harry ate, the more he realised that he was more thirsty than hungry. He eventually stopped to drink the second potion, desperate for some sort of moisture to relieve the dryness in his mouth, and – to his surprise – he found it tasted quite sweet. He drank almost all of it in one go.

There was no way to tell what time it was, as Harry couldn't see a clock in sight, but he was willing to bet that it was far later than was appropriate for a visit to someone else's house, especially when he wasn't invited in the least. He knew why Severus was so angry, as Harry would have been furious had Ron or Hermione risked their lives to bring back magic, but he couldn't quite explain it . . . it felt like it was his responsibility . . . it felt like it was his fault.

"The world does not just _reappear_ as magic does," said Severus.

Harry was jolted from his thoughts. He looked up, as Severus gave a flick of his wand and sent the tray flying over onto the windowsill. The contents rattled and spilt, whilst a small crack appeared in the pane of glass when the tray collided, and Harry realised that years without practise had a massive impact on skill. Severus simply let out a hiss of breath, before he slid his wand into a holster under his sleeve. It felt strange that it could take the older adults so long to readjust to a life with magic again, and Harry asked:

"What do you mean?"

"I _mean_ that there is no floo network," snapped Severus. "It ceased to exist when magic did, so there will be no one to monitor it or to maintain it, and many will no longer have fireplaces large enough to receive visitors. It has been too long for me to safely allow you to side-Apparate, whilst St Mungo's currently is acting as a muggle clinic. Where do you suppose I was meant to take you? A muggle hospital would not have the antidote to _that_ poison."

"I – I researched as much as I could with the books you gave me," said Harry lamely. "I also 'remembered' stuff from what would have been my sixth year, so I knew the bezoar would act as an effective antidote. I just didn't think it'd leave me this . . . sick."

"No, you did not! Do you realise how close you were to death? If I were even a few seconds later, you would not have received the bezoar in time! The poison is so fast-acting that even the _Chosen One_ would not have time to self-administer any antidote! Tell me, do you even care that you could have died? Do you care that you could be a lifeless corpse right now?"

Harry winced and looked down. A feeling of shame swept over him, as the cold fear finally hit him, and he realised exactly why Severus was so furious. It was strange, but he never really believed there was an actual possibility of death. He recognised the risk, as well as all the dangers that might take place, but the idea that something could happen – something irreversible, something fatal – seemed like some almost impossible dream. Remus was right: he took risks for people that people never expected from him.

The room felt infinitely colder. He just wanted to bring back magic, maybe make the world better in some way, and to fix what he had been a part of breaking, but – in the process – he had only worried those around him and risked his life. It was as if he were throwing the gift his parents left him back at them, as they _died_ to be sure of his safety. Harry threw back his head and drew in a shuddered breath, as he fought back the beginnings of tears. He refused to cry in front of Severus, especially when the older man would take it as an admission of guilt and likely lord it over him. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to control himself.

"I didn't think," said Harry lamely.

"No, you bloody didn't think! You are lucky to be alive!"

"What did – what did you tell my aunt and uncle? I'm guessing you – er – had to tell either them or Remus what happened, right? They aren't mad, are they? I _swear_ , Severus, I thought this would be okay . . . I didn't think anything bad would happen with you around."

Severus gave him a look that was hard to decipher. It was something like a smirk, which made him think that his family reacted very badly to the news, and he dreaded to think just how much trouble he would soon experience. Harry swallowed hard and bit his lip, as Severus continued to stare him down with that intimidating expression. He slid further down into the bed, as he threw an arm over his forehead with a sigh, and asked:

"What did they say?"

"Nothing that you ought to worry about," said Severus. "I contacted your aunt as you slept; she is under the impression that you have caught the flu on your journey here, but that – as I must leave tomorrow for London – I will escort you safely to your godfather's."

"So . . . we're all going back to school?" Harry ran a hand over his forehead, to wipe away the sweat. "I guess I thought we'd all go back to Hogwarts or something. If magic is back, shouldn't the students be learning about that instead? Well, alongside other subjects, I guess? You probably couldn't do potions without knowing about chemistry, right?"

"Do you ever listen to the sound of anything other than your voice? It is as I said: there is much to repair in our world. It may take a year or more before Hogwarts is capable of receiving students. There must be appropriate teachers placed in the currently vacant positions, as well as support staff to hire, and the old equipment must be replaced and a relevant curriculum set. That isn't to mention the issue of the Hogwarts Express."

"I know all that logically, but just not . . . emotionally. I spent the last six years with that school in my head, and I guess a part of me always hoped that the dream would come true in some way, but instead it looks like I'm just going to keep on dreaming."

"It is not always a bad thing for dreams to remain dreams."

This time Severus' expression was easier to decipher. The older man walked slowly and purposefully towards the chair beside the bed, where he sat with a soft sigh, and Harry – as he watched him – realised that Severus was lost in thought. It made him wonder what his friend was thinking, as he clearly denied himself something thinking the reality an impossibility or potentially threatening in some way, and Severus seemed like the kind of person that could have anything he wanted. He was stoic, self-disciplined, and talented.

It made him smile, in some strange way, to think that he wasn't alone. He wanted to reach out to Severus, but he knew that it was a massive sacrifice for the other man just to sit _next_ to him, as it broke every internal rule he had about 'appropriate behaviour'. The fact was that he drank the poison out of desperation, a need to simply feel whole again, in a way that he could never quite recall feeling except maybe in some distant dream, and everything he wanted in this world always seemed just out of reach. He rolled onto his side and slid off his glasses, which Severus took from him without even being asked. Harry gave a sad smile.

"I guess I wasn't happy in that world, either," said Harry sadly.

"How happy are you in this one?" Severus rolled his eyes. "I do not mean to suggest that you are suicidal, but you display reckless and risky behaviour. A person fully content with their life _does not_ jeopardise that life perhaps short of sacrifice. This was not a sacrifice."

"It's funny, isn't it? In that world I always wanted to be normal and live a normal life, but here I guess I always wanted something special and something different . . . I don't know, Severus, I honestly don't. I just want to _belong_ somewhere! I was always the 'Chosen One' in that place, so no one really knew the real me, and here I'm just like everyone else and people just assume I'm someone I'm not. I guess I just thought that maybe -?"

Harry rolled onto his back, as Severus extinguished the light across the room with a flick of his wand. There was a brief moment of worry and confusion, until he heard a whispered 'Lumos' and saw a bright light appear somewhere around where the other man sat, and then – with gentle movements – he stood up and walked over to the chest of drawers and placed the glasses carefully down next to the dark lamp. He worried that he said something wrong, as Harry tried to make out his blurry form through the now shadowy room.

"I'm sorry, Severus," said Harry.

There was a long sigh from Severus, as he walked over to the open door and stopped. He turned and gave an expression that Harry couldn't quite see, whilst he lowered his wand to hip-level and placed a hand upon the doorknob. Severus asked in a firm voice:

"Would you believe me, if I were to say I understand?"

"I can't say I would," replied Harry with a smile. "You seem to fit in well."

"You saw that I did anything _but_ fit into the 'other' world, as for this one -?" Severus gave a dangerous smirk. "I am not deaf to the insults thrown at me by students or your godfather, nor am I free from self-doubt from past actions. You are not alone, no matter how much you presume yourself to be. Your actions will undoubtedly affect those around you, and this act of desperate self-discovery has changed everything that many of them have ever known."

"You don't think they'll resent me for it, do you? I just thought . . ."

"Go to sleep, Harry. I shall take the spare room."

It made Harry blush to realise this was Severus' room . . . Severus' _bed_. He felt entirely grateful that Severus turned off the muggle lighting for a magical source, because it meant he would be unable to see how red his cheeks became and how he gnawed at his lip. There was also something that made his heart sink a little to realise he was putting Severus out, whilst suddenly the room also became a lot more interesting and he felt like investigating it a little more in the morning. He let out a long breath and asked gently:

"Hey – er – could you turn out the light the other way?"

"Magic really is a novelty you," observed Severus.

"Yeah, I guess it is, so could you?"

Severus gave a sincere smile.

" _Nox_."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"You just finish your homework, Ronald!"

Ron gave a roll of his eyes, one that he was lucky Molly didn't spot. It was enough to make Remus give a small smile, as he sat at the far end of the kitchen table, because he could fully understand the young man's need to be a part of the conversation. He was likely filled with excitement and anxiety, as magic coursed through his system and bled into his pores, and the whole world must have seemed full of infinite potential. Magic was something only in books for Ron growing up, and so the image he built of it was nothing alike the truth . . .

He wouldn't be aware of Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration; there would be no way to know that things such as money and food could not be created from nothing, no way to know that magic wasn't a cure-all for any problem, and it would seem enticing. It was enough to make Remus envy his naivety. Ron continued to scribble away at his exercise book at the far end of the room, whilst Harry sat next to him seemingly lost in a world of his own, and it was unusual to see him so lost in thought when the room was so busy. It was as if Harry failed to notice the hustle and bustle, as if the sheer chaos didn't affect him.

"What's the point?" Ron asked. "We have magic, don't we?"

"I would focus on your homework, Mr Weasley," interrupted Minerva.

"You shall find that Mr Weasley believes himself above such advice," said Severus coldly. "If you were to suggest water to extinguish a fire, he would likely turn to oil instead. Alas, pray tell, why again did Albus think that this dingy home was a suitable location to meet?"

Remus looked carefully across the room as Severus spoke; he noticed that Harry's eyes would suddenly focus and angle just slightly to keep the older man in view. Kingsley, Minerva, and Severus lingered in a corner not far behind Remus, whilst Molly pottered about the stove and tried to light the gas with her wand, before eventually resorting to a match and finishing her cooking with a shake of her head. The scent of spices filled the air, as the adults gossiped and Ron muttered about life being 'unfair'. Remus gave a long sigh.

"Do you need a hand, Molly?" Minerva asked.

"Oh, no, but thank you," said Molly. "I just _wish_ I could remember the spell to light things properly. It's been so long, but I seem to remember how to set the dishes to wash themselves and the floor to sweep . . . it's just that _one_ spell! It's hardly like riding a bike, is it?"

"I know what you mean. We have several students that have wands already, like young Draco and Harry, and I find myself automatically chastising them about the Statue of Secrecy. It's so easy to forget that they haven't even _heard_ of such laws, at least until you see the look of complete incomprehension on their faces. It's strange to think that we have a whole generation that has no knowledge about the very basics, there's so much for them to learn."

"Well, it's only been a week, which is what I keep telling my lot." Molly wiped her forehead with her sleeve. "Our Bill was eleven when it all went away . . . so excited to start his first year, only for him to have it all taken away from him . . . such a shame. He's planning a career change, though; Gringotts have offered to train him . . . curses, I think."

"Speaking of career changes," added Kinglsey, "Hogwarts is going to need teachers."

"Yes, and we all know who _they_ will be," muttered Severus.

There was an abrupt sound of the kitchen door opening. Remus quickly turned his head in fear that this may be Sirius, as there was much to be discussed and arguments between Sirius and Severus would solve nothing, but – much to his relief – it was only Arthur and Hermione. The two of them quickly made their way into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, with rain over their coats and a red tinge to their cheeks, and he could see that they were both cold from both their respective journeys. Arthur made his way over to Molly, who he gave a kiss.

Hermione sat opposite Harry, beside Ron, although the redheaded youth barely gave her a glance and blushed a little at her presence. It was difficult to say whether he was embarrassed by their earlier arguments, or whether he was actually interested in Hermione as a partner after all, but he could see that Hermione was also uncomfortable. There was an awkward silence between the three of them. Arthur seemed not to notice, as he at once slid off his coat and draped it over a back of a chair centre of the table, as he sat down with a long groan of relaxation and rubbed at his shoulders. Molly placed a mug of tea in front of him.

"Guess who I found at the door," said Arthur cheerfully.

Hermione gave a nervous smile, as she carefully removed her coat and revealed her uniform underneath. The black trousers and blazer were oddly reminiscent of Hogwarts in style, more so than the students may have realised, and he felt a sense of sorrow at realising just how much was lost through the years. Harry leaned forward and whispered something to her, as he rolled up the sleeves to his oversized jumper and cast a surreptitious glance back over to Severus briefly, and Remus – noticing what he prayed Sirius never would – made a mental note to talk to the younger man about his behaviour later.

It took Molly only a moment to place a hot drink before Hermione, as Harry slid back and stared sheepishly at his hands, and – in his lap – Remus made out the sight of his new wand and realised that it would likely be a novelty for the younger man. The speed upon which Ollivander reopened surprised most people, as it was almost a form of magic in itself, but it was a rite of passage for most and those of Harry's age were eager to obtain one. He was lucky to receive the eleven-inch holly wand, as there was currently a long waiting list.

"I hope _you're_ still studying, dear," said Molly.

"Of course," replied Hermione politely. "My parents are adamant I go on to university, but I want to go more for myself than for them. I think Tonks was right in following law; if I can master that, I may be able to work for the Ministry later on, maybe help change how the wizarding world views magical creatures and muggles. It's just an idea, though . . ."

"A very good one, too!" Arthur added. "You wouldn't want to work at the Ministry just yet, in any case. It's been pure _chaos_ lately. It seems no one really knows where to begin; it's mostly just emergency meetings at the moment, trying to get on top of the laws and putting people in place to enact them. It used to be that we took underage magic very seriously, but – of course – we need to know _who's_ capable of performing magic first. The amount of record keeping is absolutely insane! If I see one more piece of parchment -!"

"You have the easy part," added Kinglsey. "Trust me, I envy you, my friend. There's talk of voting for a new Minister, as well a wide-scale organisation of the departments, and we have the elves _en masse_ asking when they can get back to work. Hogwarts has already offered many of them a place to work, which helps us get the school back in working condition, but beings like the centaurs are asking for full rights, which requires changing the laws."

"I suspect it will be a good few years before we get things back to normal." Arthur gave a heavy sigh and leaned forward. "I have more grey hairs these days than I have from the past few years. The muggles are already noticing that streets have suddenly gone missing."

"We're using the 'trap street' excuse. Since 'Dr Who', it's an easy explanation."

"It's amazing what people believe, so long as it's on TV."

Remus gave a small smile, as Molly sat down next to her husband. There was something in the air that felt a strange combination of tension and excitement; every person seemed on the verge of movement and question, and no one knew what to do next. The young adults needed and wanted to study magic, but they also needed to maintain their muggle studies in order to function in their society. Rumour had it that the Ministry was willing to overlook the lack of wizarding qualifications in that generation, so long as there was a muggle equivalent in place.

The older adults meanwhile existed in a state of panic. There were laws to reinforce, laws to change, and establishments to rebuild. They needed to quickly bring about the old status quo, whilst listening to the demands of people to change the rights of other creatures, and those same creatures often had demands of their own in the process. Remus knew that discrimination ran a lot deeper than 'legal rights', and just because there was hope that werewolves no longer exist on the fringes of society . . . well . . . it would still be difficult to find and maintain a job. He would still be reluctant to pass that stigma onto a child.

"What about Azkaban?" Harry asked, as if out of nowhere.

Remus gave the younger man a curious look, as he wondered what went on in his mind to make him think of such a thing or why he would care, but – considering that with magic there came a risk of the Death Eaters returning to cause trouble – he could understand the concern. The air around them became tense; Severus folded his arms in a rather subtle manner, with his marked arm underneath the other, and Minerva drew in a hissed breath from where she stood. In Harry's 'other world', Harry feared the Dementors more than anything . . .

"That's one of our top priorities," said Kinglsey.

"No one really thought of it as inhumane back then," added Arthur. "Strange, isn't it? It's _amazing_ what you can learn from muggles! I always said they were fascinating people, but no one ever listened to me. They just thought me eccentric! In any case, we've dismissed the Dementors and put some Aurors in charge. We're reopening some cases, too."

"Tonks told Ginny that she's thinking of applying to be an Auror," said Hermione. "Bill is all for it, but the training will be very intense, although there's quite a demand for Aurors at the moment. Do you think she'll stand a chance? She'll have to learn a lot of magic."

"Oh, Tonks is one of the top of the list for training! She'll do fine."

"That's a relief, I'm sure she'll be excited to know."

The kitchen door flung open, as Tonks fell inside and kicked the door closed. It seemed that magic hadn't helped her clumsiness in the least, although she held her wand close to her at all times and wore a smile brighter than any other, and Remus – with mixed feelings and some regret – noted that her marriage to Bill made her glow. The ring on her finger was an heirloom from the Weasley family, whilst Tonks herself now wore her hair long and red, almost like Ginny's, and she was almost like a whole new person.

"Talk of the devil," muttered Ron.

Tonks seemed to miss the presence of Minerva and Severus, including Kinglsey himself, and instead moved quickly around the table to take a seat near to Hermione. The young woman dressed quite nicely in shades of purple and black, although her style was quite erratic and made him question the modern fashions, and a part of him felt sad that quite possibly robes would fall out of style for informal occasions. Society would change.

"Sorry I'm late!" Tonks gave a smile. "Magic practise!"

"See, _Tonks_ gets to practise," muttered Ron. "Why can't we?"

"The Ministry _pays_ for Tonks' training, Ronald," said Mrs Weasley. "Gringotts also pays for Bill's, and Harry and Draco Malfoy are getting private lessons . . . we just can't afford to pay for lessons like that. If you keep studying the theory, your dad can teach you the practise."

"Yeah, but isn't Harry learning from Snape and Remus? I bet Remus wouldn't –"

"We'll see. Remus is thinking of teaching classes, aren't you?"

Remus gave a nervous smile. There was very little chance a lot of the pureblood families would want someone of his status teaching their children, as families – such as Draco's – paid for highly qualified and highly reputable private tutors, but it was possible that some of Harry's friends would like to join him for group lessons. Luna and Neville would certainly have some interest, whilst Hermione and Ron would certainly join, but it was a lot of work to prepare lesson plans and do such work without pay. Things were tight as they stood.

"I suppose it would be good practise for a teaching career," he admitted.

"Yes," said Severus. "Albus believes that a werewolf is a good choice for Defence Against the Dark Arts. I must say that the students learning to defend themselves against their very teacher is an _interesting_ method of choice. What fun they shall have."

"Be nice, Severus," snapped Harry. "Remus was a great teacher in my visions."

"Indeed, until he _resigned_ from his post."

"You want to get into that?"

The smirk that Harry gave was mostly playful, whilst the one on Severus' face showed some mild amusement. It was very rare that Severus met his match, so much so that he treasured the times when it happened, and it was a very fine line for those on Severus' level, as it was easy to cross from 'amusement' into 'fury' at a moment's notice. The subtle change of their relationship shouldn't have worried him, as Harry had a habit of making older friends and even some younger friends, but Remus was very wary about what may lay between them.

"Still can't believe we have magic back," said Tonks dazedly.

"I'm still more curious as to _why_ it came back," answered Remus, as he shot a look to Severus. "I can understand that Harry's 'death' broke whatever spell caused this, but Harry has always had quite a strong constitution. Pneumonia?"

"Indeed," replied Severus. "It seems that the return of magic is what saved him. My concern is what should happen should anything like this happens again; let us pray that no one like the Dark Lord returns to continue his path of destruction, but let us not forget that it is entirely a possibility that – if magic should cease to exist once – it could cease to exist again."

"It's something to consider and investigate. I suppose it's better that something like this happen now rather than later; imagine if this occurred eighty years from now, without an older generation to teach the younger, there could be absolute chaos and panic. Petunia's husband has already asked Harry to move out . . . if one muggle can forget seventeen years of affection and family, I dread to think what society as a whole would do."

Remus ran a hand over his face, as he looked to Harry. The young man would always have a home in Grimmauld Place, just as how Petunia and Dudley would always hold some affection towards him, but it was no secret that the family as a whole loathed anything 'abnormal', so much so that it was a fight to even get them to accept Harry after Lily's death. It was only the promise that magic had ceased to exist that convinced her, with the years building a bond between the two without magic to tear it apart.

It was that Minerva moved with Kingsley to take a seat, whilst Severus cast his eyes from the clock and then to Harry. A moment later he followed suit, as he took a seat next to his colleague and friend, although he seemed very annoyed to still be sitting in the kitchen of someone he so loathed as Sirius. The luck that Sirius still hadn't come downstairs was humongous, enough that Remus felt grateful for such a blessing. Minerva gave a small sigh and removed her gloves with a graceful gesture, as she placed them before her and looked about the room for some sort of sign that it was appropriate to speak.

"I guess this is the start of many changes," said Minerva.

Remus gave a sad smile and tried to avoid a glance to Harry, who listened intently to stories told by Tonks about her honeymoon and the spells she learned on her return, as he feared that he might see some emotion or evidence of something that was best left uncovered. The lives that they led were nothing like what Harry wrote about, as such he couldn't use anything from those writings to reassure himself, and that worried him.

"A whole new start," he whispered.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

' _Wands away, Mr Malfoy_!'

Harry laughed under his breath. There was always something thrilling about seeing Draco in trouble, even after all their years spent schooling together, and he would admit to a certain pleasure in seeing his rival scowl at the reprimand. The corridor was almost completely empty, save for a handful of people already of age, but it seemed that McGonagall wasn't taking any chances with potential onlookers. It was true that a lot of muggle students attended the school, more so than wizarding students, but she was arguably overreacting.

Draco slid his wand back into his pocket, as he adjusted his blazer and muttered something offensive under his breath, but those words were cut short with a threat of detention and the way that McGonagall stormed back inside her classroom. He watched until McGonagall was out of sight, before he leaned back against the wall and withdrew his wand yet again. It was clear that he sought to show off; he twirled it around in his long fingers, as he smirked and looked over to Hermione with a glitter in his eyes, and Ron – unable to hide his disgust – simply rolled his eyes and bit his tongue to keep from a fight.

"They say that a lot," said Draco. "Not like a muggle knows a wand, though."

"Not like you do either," muttered Ron. "They only started working was a fortnight ago; just 'cause your daddy's rich enough to buy you a piece of wood, doesn't mean you have to keep showing it off. No one cares what you have, Malfoy."

"Aw, haven't your parents gotten you one yet, Weasley? Maybe if you're lucky, you'll get someone's old hand-me-down. Hope they can afford _that_ much. I had this one recommended to me personally by Ollivander: ten inches, hawthorn, and unicorn hair. It's been good to me so far, but you can't really do any magic without one. Not like _you'd_ know anything about that, would you? Don't worry, maybe we can get you a stick to practise."

"You know where you can put that stick, Malfoy? Just because I can't hex you, doesn't mean I won't punch you one. Get out of our way, will you? It's a free lesson; don't want to spend it around a little ferret that relies on his daddy's money to make up for his shitty personality, so go annoy Blaise or Pansy or something. No one wants you here."

"Actually, I beg to differ," said Draco. "I'm here to speak to Hermione."

"Why would she want to talk to _you_?"

Harry looked over to Draco. He could see why Hermione might find him physically attractive, as there was a lot to be said for him when he shut his mouth, because any semblance of sound was enough to break the illusion of a tolerable person. Draco was slender with white-blond hair and grey eyes, so that he stood out and looked unique in their school, almost like a model in some respects, and he looked healthy from his time spent playing sports and working out. He wasn't Harry's type, but he could see the appeal.

The only problem was his personality, as he was undeniably snobbish and judgemental. Draco wasn't a man of grey areas; he saw the world in black and white, enough that he would go out of his way to make the lives of his 'enemies' a living hell, but he could be the epitome of kindness to those he loved and respected. Severus reassured Harry that Draco was maturing, as did Hermione, so that he apparently was beginning to treat people with respect and realised the world was more complicated than it seemed, but it was difficult to see that part of him when he seemed to go out of his way to annoy those like Ron. It was the rudeness of it that annoyed Harry more than anything, as it was both unjust and unfair.

There was a moment of quiet as Professor Slughorn wandered by them, as he uttered a quick greeting and apologised for being unable to stop, and then Hermione gave a polite nod to Draco and ignored Ron's protests. It was quite a warm day for September, enough that the air felt humid and their clothes clung to them uncomfortably, and it added to the impatience that Harry and Ron felt around Draco's presence, even if he wasn't being particularly atrocious that day. They stood uncomfortably in an awkward silence, whilst Draco gave a smirk that Harry just wanted to wipe away from his face. It looked smarmy.

"I can speak for myself, Ronald," said Hermione.

The look that Ron gave was rather venomous. It was easy for Harry to interpret, as they effectively grew up with one another through the years, but he knew Hermione could easily misinterpret it. The two of them had an unfortunate knack of misunderstanding one another, which led to many disagreements throughout the years, and this would likely be no exception to that. Ron respected and cared for Hermione, almost like a sister, and he was protective enough of her to want to keep her away from someone like Draco.

"You know that's _Draco_ , right?" Ron asked.

"It's hardly a mystery to me," said Hermione. "Look, we all turn eighteen this year, surely there's very little reason to hold onto childish grudges? If you just got to _know_ Draco, you'd see that he's highly intelligent and has quite the sensitive side."

"Yeah, if you call crying in the bathrooms 'sensitive'. Aren't you forgetting something? His dad was a Death Eater! Lucius Malfoy hates muggle-born people; you're spending your time with someone that was literally taught that you're no better than mud! Don't you think you can do _better_ than him? You aren't too bad looking when you try."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment? If you must know, Draco is saving to rent a place of his own during university. He's spent enough time around muggles to know that his father isn't always right, plus he treats me quite fairly and we've worked together a lot for our coursework and studies, and he's someone that I consider a friend. He also likes me even when I _don't_ 'try'. Why don't you just support me, Ron?"

There was a large huff of breath from Hermione, as she spun around to face Draco, before she made a point of locking her arm through his and leaning into his space. It was possible that she did it solely to antagonise Ron, but a small part of Harry wondered whether there was actually something blossoming between Draco and Hermione, as they complemented each other well and actually held a chemistry that always felt lacking between her and Ron. He daren't bring himself to ask the question aloud, but he smiled despite himself.

"Let's go, Draco," said Hermione.

Draco shot Ron a look as they left through the end of the hallway, although the hand gesture that Ron shot back made his feelings known in turn. It was possible that they would be seeing a lot more of Draco, unless they were willing to see a lot less of Hermione, and Harry could see this as the start of a serious problem. He was willing to split his time between his two friends, if it meant still being friends with both, but he quite liked spending time with the both of them together. There was something depressing about getting older and growing apart.

They waited until the two were out of sight, before they made their way down a nearby staircase to the ground floor, where they walked past the drama studio and made their way outside onto the quad. The sun beamed down low, as it signalled the end of the school day, and it was easy to envy the younger years that were able to go home at three-thirty, especially when it meant walking the streets of London in the dark. There was very little noise, as the younger years were gone, and only a few of the upper years had classes at that time, and it only added to the eerie atmosphere about the place.

"Well, that was awkward," said Harry.

"I don't know what she's thinking dating Draco," muttered Ron.

"I guess she sees in him something we don't." Harry kicked at a stray stone. "I know he was a real prick in the other world, but – even there – he did have moments of humanity. I guess it's easy to forget that people are rarely good or bad, but kind of just bits of both. Hermione was always smart that way . . . she's always been able to see what we can't."

"Look, I'm not saying he's a bad guy or evil or going to mistreat her, but just that he's spent the last seven years looking his nose down on my family and slagging them off! It's like she's gone off with the enemy! It'd be like me dating Voldermort or something."

Harry gave a loud laugh and looked across the school building. The windows were slowly turning black, as the teachers moved into offices or went home, and the few classes that were taking place were slowly wrapping up for the day. He knew that Hermione and Draco would either be in the library or heading home, because they seemed to be 'trading' in lessons lately; he would teach her about magic, whilst she would help with his muggle lessons, and together they seemed to be doing much better than apart. He wished them well.

"I guess it's time to get going," said Ron.

"Can't you wait a bit longer?" Harry gave him a pleading look. "The dormitories are only five minutes away, you don't even have to leave the premises. Severus should be leaving in around half-an-hour. I just want to see whether I can get a lift."

"You'll be lucky! He's just going to leave without you. I bet – when you get there – he'll just say that you should have left when lessons ended, instead of waiting on him, and that he'll refuse to teach you because you're late. Even if it were pouring down with rain, he'd still expect you to walk it! Why do you have to have lessons at his place, anyway?"

"It's extra-curricular _and_ magical. I don't think they can risk any muggle students or teachers walking in, plus there's all this magical equipment and stuff over at Severus'. We _tried_ having lessons over at Sirius', but you should have seen it . . . it was the first time I've ever seen anyone duel with magic, pretty much hoping it's the last time, too. I was thinking about going into Auror training, like Tonks, they give out free training to our age group."

"You looked at that properly? They have pretty high standards. Tonks had to pass her degree, do a fitness test, and pass a bunch of extra exams and stuff. There's even this paper about magic for non-magical people and people like us that never went to school. W.O.M.B.A.T. or something, but it looks pretty hard. It's four years just for the degree."

It was a fair point, which made Harry question his future all the more. He always avoided applying for university, both out of a dislike of the idea of higher education and out of a belief he could find something in the magical world, but – even if there were jobs in the magical world – he was extremely under-qualified for most of them. He swallowed hard and looked up at the evening sky, as he questioned his future. It was true that he didn't _need_ to work, not with his parents' money, but he wanted to feel like he _earned_ it . . .

He looked upwards to Severus' classroom on the top floor, where he noticed the light turn off and caught sight of a shadow lean close against the window, as if they were looking down to see the outside. It was gone as soon as he saw it. Harry fought a blush, even as he realised that Severus probably was merely looking out of curiosity about the noise, but that didn't help in the least. He simply just felt lucky that Ron didn't spot his reaction, but – then again – Ron was rarely the most observant at the best of times. It was then that Ron shrugged and turned to him with a rather sincere smile, as he glanced across the quad.

"Maybe you can become a Muggle Studies teacher," suggested Ron.

Harry gave a weak smile and shook his head.

"Better than nothing, I guess."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Severus' flat wasn't like Harry expected.

It was . . . homely. There were several photos framed upon the main wall, although not one contained an image of Severus himself, and most seemed at least ten or twenty years old. Harry recognised his mother in one, along with Albus and Slughorn in another, and what he thought must have been Severus' mother in another photo, immortalised behind glass and with an uncanny resemblance to her son in some respects. He never really spotted many personal possessions, but the room certainly _felt_ personalised.

The strange thing was that there was barely any green or black in sight, at least in the living room and kitchen, and the rooms seemed to exist in shades of beige or peach, enough that Harry was always half-tempted to ask whether Severus moved in without redecorating. It seemed that Severus didn't own a television, but he did have an extensive collection of books that rivalled that of his home in Spinner's End. There were books everywhere. Harry could see some propping up the legs of furniture, others placed carefully behind glassed cabinets, others open or littered with bookmarks on various sides . . .

There were times after lessons where he would get lost in books about magic, which were littered about in a way that implied Severus rarely – if ever – received any muggle guests, and lately he borrowed more books from Severus than he may have read in a lifetime. The magic world fascinated him. Ron teased that he was turning into Hermione, but he could finally understand Hermione's passion for reading, as it opened up something new to him and allowed him to talk with the older adults on their own level. He loved it.

"I would advise you not to wait next time," said Severus.

Harry looked up from his book. He blushed to realise that he was lost in the material, as he slid it onto the table and looked across to Severus. The living area was all open, so that the kitchen bled seamlessly into the living room, but two doors stood on either side to the living room proper, with the further one leading into the sole bedroom. It was a small flat, but cosy and intimate, and Severus stood in the doorway to the bedroom with a familiarity that made Harry feel almost like an intruder. He coughed nervously and shrugged.

"We were headed the same way," replied Harry.

"You must be aware that my position as a teacher requires me to stay behind after classes," snapped Severus. "I would also add that driving is most ineffective now that it is possible to Apparate, thus you may have been waiting for a ride that would never come. I do not live to chauffer the Chosen One to his extra-curricular lessons, no matter what he would fool himself into believing, and your presumption otherwise is quite offensive."

"It wasn't a presumption. I saw your car in the parking lot, plus I overheard Professor McGonagall say that teachers were forbidden to Apparate on premises. There's nowhere nearby where you could safely do it without being seen, so I made an educated guess."

"No, you made a _lucky_ guess. That is all."

Severus marched inside, having changed from his work clothes, and sat on an armchair opposite Harry. It felt inappropriate somehow to see him in his everyday attire, but it suited him well and the wizarding clothes gave him an aura of power, as if they served to remind Harry of how his friend held a mastery over magic that he could only dream. He looked tired from teaching; his face was somewhat pale and his eyes heavy, but he focussed on Harry with an intensity that it forced Harry to look away, unsure how to react.

"Well, last time I ended up waiting outside for half-an-hour," muttered Harry.

"What do you propose I do? Give you a key?" Severus rolled his eyes. "If you find your journey too short, I suggest you spend that extra time in the library. You surely don't have a shortage of things to read, seeing as you have seven years of schooling to acquaint yourself."

"I've been doing nothing _but_ read! I've spent every second of every day studying about magic, at least when I'm not at football practise or doing my coursework. I just feel kind of lost lately, you know? I feel like studying muggle subjects is taking time away from magic, but I won't be able to get a magical job or training without them . . . like a catch twenty-two."

"So a half-an-hour feels like an eternity? Trust me, it is hardly anything in the scheme of things. I know you must feel that four years for a degree is hardly worth the time taken, but it will pass you by far quicker than you imagine. You will regret the chances missed than those taken; should you neglect your muggle studies, you will have no basis for which to prove your worth for wizarding studies or training for wizarding careers."

"That's the thing; I don't think I'm cut out for academic stuff. I still get glimpses of that other world. I quit school in my last year, but – even before that – I always had plans to go straight into Auror training. I _really_ don't want to spend the next four years writing out essays."

"I told Albus that you would not have the patience for study."

"That's hardly fair, Severus."

Harry glanced across the table, where Severus sat with hands interlocked upon his lap, and – from behind him – the curtains wafted slightly from the breeze of an open window. There was a chill in the air that made Harry wish he were wearing anything other than his uniform, but he ignored the thought to wrap his arms around himself, as he raised his feet onto the edge of the sofa and drew in a deep breath. Severus must have caught onto his feelings, as he cast a wordless spell and the window closed itself. It was then he said with a sigh.

"It was not meant as an insult, Harry."

Severus stood up and walked into the kitchen area; it was small, as most of the properties in London tended to be, but it was comfortable and filled with state-of-the-art equipment, as well as spices and herbs that Harry never even knew existed. It should have made sense that Severus was the sort to cook for himself, apparently quite good or at least passionate about it, but there was also a part of Harry that assumed Severus to be a man prone to take-out or eating in restaurants. It was hard to imagine him cooking for himself, especially when he probably ate alone and was disinclined to guests.

"There is a way to enter Auror training without muggle qualifications."

"How?" Harry asked. "Tonks said that Auror training is pretty intense. Just learning to do magic is taking up almost all of her time, plus then there's learning about the Wizarding rules and stuff on top . . . they _barely_ took her in and she had a _first_ in Law."

"That is usually the case," muttered Severus. "A couple of exceptions have been made in St Mungo's and in the Ministry, at least regarding those that are seen as exhibiting an exceptional talent. If you could master a gift that requires great skill, it is entirely possible that you would be accepted for training in any magical career of your choice. By this I mean a skill such as occlumency or becoming an animagus."

Harry felt his blood run cold. He watched as Severus set a charm that caused sandwiches to seemingly make themselves, and – as he remembered both the past and his 'stories' – he wondered why they were always the default food to make amongst adults. Severus moved gracefully to a table at the side of the room, which looked set up as a makeshift laboratory, perhaps for everyday potions or those that required little attention, and he lifted a vial into the light to observe its viscosity. Harry slowly climbed to his feet, as he walked over to him.

It felt strange to walk only in socks in someone else's home, as if he had taken a liberty that wasn't his to take, and he regretted that he left his shoes by the door. He stood not far from Severus, as the older man cursed the lack of space for a proper laboratory, and felt his mouth run dry. He licked his lips and ran his hand through his hair. The idea that _Severus_ could root around in his mind terrified him. It must have taken a lot for Severus to even make such an offer; he was an impatient man, one that loathed taking time away from his schedule, and he was also very private. Harry didn't want to seem ungrateful, so he chose his words carefully.

"Can you teach me to be an animagus?" Harry asked.

Severus quirked an eyebrow and placed the vial down. The look he gave Harry was one of sheer disbelief, as if he couldn't understand how Harry could fail to remember his own visions, the ones of Occlumency lessons that were spent locked down in the dungeons, and he gave a sharp exhale of breath through his nose. Harry swallowed hard, as he gnawed at his lip and tried to look anywhere but at those black eyes. There was a deep fear that his friend already began looking into his mind, searching for the cause of the 'misunderstanding'.

"I think not," said Severus.

"What about if I learnt the Patronus Charm or –"

"If that were an option, I would have suggested it. I read your 'stories', as such I am aware at what spells and charms you would excel, but this is not one that would qualify you as an 'exceptional' wizard. I am willing to teach you occlumency, if you are willing to learn."

"Well – er – I thought you would teach me stuff to complement Remus' lessons, you know? I didn't expect you to suggest . . . _that_. I mean we didn't exactly do well in the other world. It was mostly just bickering and stuff, not to mention that big fight when I went into your memories, so it just feels weird you'd bring it up. I wasn't exactly good at it, you know?"

"Things were different in that world," said Severus. "I cannot say for certain as to why I acted as I did, for that was a world that never truly existed. It is a place that exists within your mind and the pages of paper written by your hand, perhaps an insight into what may have been and perhaps not, but I can speculate as to why your lessons failed. The Dark Lord could see into your mind, as such I may have been inclined to be hard upon you, likely in the attempt to conceal my true loyalties from becoming uncovered.

"The rest of our troubles appear to have stemmed from miscommunication. I pushed you in ways that I knew would garner a negative reaction, whereas you intentionally avoided practise and broke my trust, which includes regularly lying to me. It is what would have led ultimately to Sirius' death; had you trusted me to inform the Order, just as if I had been less antagonistic to you in order to motivate you in your studies, he may have survived."

"Okay, I – I get it," muttered Harry. "You think because we can communicate now that it'll go different, right? I'd say you have a point, but there's things I _really_ don't want you to see, Severus. It's not because I don't trust you, but just because . . . well . . . they're _private_."

Severus smirked, as he summoned the tray of sandwiches towards him. He led the way back into the living room and dropped them onto the table, before he returned to his armchair and folded his arms and legs, so that Harry had no choice but to follow across the room and slump back onto the sofa opposite him. Every muscle in his body felt tense and ached, as he felt an urge to just run from everything and pretend that this conversation wasn't taking place, but he owed Severus more than just lies or evasion. He owed him the truth.

"I know what thoughts go through the mind of a young man," said Severus.

It took Harry's every ounce of self-control not to laugh, even as he allowed a smile to pull at his features and break across his face. There was something amusing about picturing Severus around his age, with crushes of his own and the same feelings racing through him, but he knew that Severus never had those emotions revealed so bluntly to another person. He appreciated that his friend tried to comfort him, and – were this any other teenage drama – he may well have given in and risked his thoughts being read, but this wasn't something that Severus could look at and ignore. It was about him directly, which is what made it dangerous.

"Look, this is different, okay?"

"I am afraid that I require more explanation," replied Severus. "If you wish to skip higher education in the muggle world, you will need to exhibit a skill such as occlumency in the wizarding world. You would rather reject my offer than for me to see such trivial emotions?"

"They aren't –!" Harry drew in a deep breath and scowled. "Seriously, Severus, it's taken a _lot_ for us just to get to this place. I enjoy being your friend; I like having someone I can ask for advice, someone that I can confide in, someone that will help me out . . . I like _you_. If you start prying around in my head -? There's a good chance we'll end up back at square one, where you can barely stand to spend two minutes in my company. I don't want that."

There was a long silence between them. Harry could barely stand it for much longer, as he reached out and took a sandwich from the side, and he realised – as he bit in – that Severus had made cheese and tomato, one of his favourites. It was terrifying to think that they could go from this back to bickering and bullying, even if it was nothing on the scale as to what they went through in the other world, as he enjoyed what they had together. They knew more about one another than anyone else; they shared the 'stories' together, they took lessons together, they saw each other at the Order meetings . . . he couldn't ruin that.

"What makes you think I would resent what I see?"

"Huh?" Harry looked up. "Oh, er, I just kind of know, that's all."

"Let me rephrase: what are you hiding?" Severus glared darkly. "What have you done?"

"I haven't ' _done'_ anything. It's just -! I don't know . . . I like someone, okay? I like someone that I shouldn't and I've liked them for a long time, but it's someone that I'm _really_ not supposed to have feelings for, so I don't exactly want you in there and _seeing_ that. It's no problem right now, because I can ignore it and they don't know about it, so things can just go on as normal, but if they find out -? It'd ruin everything. They'd hate me."

Severus' expression turned icy cold. There was something very powerful about his stare, enough that it sent shivers down Harry's spine for all the wrong reasons, and he looked lamely down at the sandwich in his hand, as he suddenly lost his appetite. He put the food back, whilst he tried his best to avoid Severus' look. The beating of his heart was so fast and loud that he almost feared his friend might hear it, so that he scratched at his chest uncomfortably and tried to control his emotions. He didn't know what else to say.

"Who is it?" Severus asked coldly.

"It's no one," muttered Harry.

"I will ask one more time: _who is it_?"

The silence between them was painful, enough that Harry felt almost afraid. He knew that Severus had quite the temper, whether in the 'other world' or in this one, and he didn't want to push him too far, especially when he seemed so suspicious and so close to breaking. The older man's knuckles were white with the pressure of clenched hands, while his eyes were narrowed into something like slits. It was intimidating to say the least. Harry began to fidget with the hem of his blazer, as he strove to avoid the older man's gaze, and – as he thought about how much he risked by telling the truth – he found the strength to speak again.

"It's you," whispered Harry.

Severus' expression turned white. He stood up slowly and purposefully; the way he towered above Harry made him feel even smaller than usual, enough that he felt like a child being reprimanded by an adult, and he felt his stomach churn heavily. There was something indescribable in the air, which made Harry's skin crawl and his head spin, and he thought that perhaps it was the strength of magic that unconsciously emanated from Severus, a product of his anger and horror at what was confessed. Harry looked away out of shame.

"Your lessons are over," said Severus.

"You're kidding, right?" Harry swallowed hard. "You – you can't just cancel our lessons because of that! It's never been a problem before now, has it? You've never so much as suspected, so it's hardly as if it's gotten between us or made things awkward or –"

"You are a student at the school I teach! It matters not that you're of age; you may be legal in both the muggle and wizarding worlds, but you are still a student and there is such a thing as a 'breach of trust'. Do you not realise what would happen should anyone discover this 'crush' of yours? I could potentially lose my job or you could potentially be expelled, depending on which of us is believed innocent. You should not be here alone with me."

"Okay. _Fine_. You said occlumency could help get me a wizarding job, right? Well, we both know I'm not cut out for the academics, so I could quit school first thing tomorrow. It's what I did in the other world, so what's stopping me from doing it in this one? I drop out and take private lessons from you, so it wouldn't matter then, would it? I don't mind that."

"Except – _by muggle law_ – you must be in education until you are eighteen."

"So . . . okay, well . . . I – I could transfer schools?"

Severus rolled his eyes, as he stormed over to the front door. There was a small bowl on a side-table, where he threw his keys upon entry, as if he held no concern for the lack of safety that came from any potential intruders finding such keys in easy reach. He snatched them up and then looked through the window beside the door, where he looked down at the car park below and then spun around to face Harry again, as he gave a low hiss of breath.

"I will drive you home," said Severus.

The conversation was clearly at an end. Harry felt something sink inside him, as he stood shakily to his feet and drew in a few heavy breaths. He never suspected that bringing back magic could lead to such hardship and heartbreak, especially when he never expected his feelings to lead anywhere in any case, but now – with the necessary refusal of one lesson – he found his entire life turned upside-down. Remus already suspected something, but now he would probably forbid these lessons entirely, and Vernon had already kicked him out, so that didn't matter much anyway, but in the course of a few weeks . . . it was too much to cope.

"Wait," said Harry. "Please!"

"There is very little reason to wait," replied Severus.

"Can we just _talk_? I need to know you don't hate me, Severus."

To his credit, Severus at least had the decency to look somewhat guilty. It was a very mild and momentary reaction, enough that many people may have missed it, and – at another time – Harry would have missed it, too. He was far from observant, but with Severus as his friend and mentor he learned to pay more attention to those around him. The idea that he could lose Severus from his life over something so trivial irked him more than anything.

"I need to know how you feel," whispered Harry.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Harry looked expectantly at Severus.

To his credit, the older man stepped away from the door. He kept his right hand clenched tightly around the keys, as if he strove to ground himself with mild pain, and his nostrils flared with each and every breath. There was no mistaking the anger he felt; his face was deathly pale, while his eyes were locked dangerously upon Harry, and he looked moments away from an explosion of emotion. Harry sank down onto the sofa. It was what Severus would have called 'presumption', but he needed to lure Severus back into a conversation.

Severus refused to move a step further. It was as if he saw what Harry attempted, and – in his stubbornness – kept as close to the door as possible, as if he could convince Harry to move in what had seemed to become something of a standoff. The air crackled with something heavy, perhaps magic that emanated from one or both of them, and it reminded Harry that they were both heavy with emotion. There was a lot to be risked: heartbreak from one, humiliation from the other. He wondered whether Severus assumed this to be some sort of game or trick, but it was equally as possible that he worried about hurting Harry's feelings. Harry felt confused.

"If you hate me, that's fine," said Harry sadly.

"Ever the martyr," snapped Severus.

There was a loud exhale of breath from Severus, as he stormed over to the armchair and threw his keys violently onto the table. The metal scratched the glass surface, whilst the noise made Harry wince in pain, and he could only watch as Severus dropped onto the armchair and watched him intently. It was awkward. He saw Severus cross his legs, as well as furrow his brow and quirk an eyebrow, and he wondered whether it would be safe to break the silence between them. Luckily, Severus made that choice for him.

"You are a student at my school," said Severus.

"I'm not _your_ student any longer," added Harry. "I dropped chemistry the first chance I got; I'm pretty happy with the four lessons I picked, thanks, so I have no plans to switch back into a subject I hate. Besides, like I said, I could transfer or something, right?"

"That is _not_ the point. You are a student at my school, which means that – for as long as you are in my presence for those seven hours a day – I retain a level of guardianship over you. I am responsible for your welfare, just as I am trusted with not abusing my power, and I take those duties _very_ seriously. It is not possible for me to see you as anything more, not whilst I am charged with your very _life_ during each weekday we are on the school premises together."

"See, I'm not _asking_ you to see me as something more! I never asked _anything_ of you, so why would I start now? I just want to have the occlumency lessons without having to worry about what you'll find out, _that's it_. Nothing inappropriate is going to happen. I wouldn't _want_ it to, either. I know you're job would be at risk."

"Just _being_ here is putting my job at _risk_." Severus glared at him. "I know some of my colleagues go for drinks with their students, the upper years that refer to them by first name, but they are not alone in a private home with a student that has a _crush_ on them."

Harry looked away with a frown. He felt his cheeks flush red, as embarrassment hit, but he also felt frustrated with being patronised by Severus. It was as if Severus thought him naïve; he knew the risks of such a relationship, which was why he never pursued it or even dreamt it possible, and he knew that heartbreak – thanks to Tonks and Remus – was more likely than reciprocation. The living room felt cold all of a sudden, enough that he grabbed at his blazer to keep it together better than the buttons allowed, and tried to stay warm.

It would have been easy to let Severus drive him home, perhaps to cancel their private lessons entirely and never to speak again, but he wanted to preserve their friendship. He lifted his feet to sit cross-legged, as he ran a hand through his hair and tried to ignore the fact he was likely making even more of a mess, and he looked pleadingly to Severus. There was something unreadable in those black eyes, enough that it made him ask:

"So you feel it's too much of a risk?"

"I feel it is a conflict of interests," muttered Severus.

It was enough to make Harry give a weak smile, as he fiddled with his fingers and fought the urge to play with his wand instead. There sounded to be more objections to the practicalities than the emotions themselves, as if he were anxious that someone would report them unfairly, and it gave him a spark of hope that their friendship could be saved. He felt his heart race from inside his chest; he swallowed hard and let out a staggered breath, while he thought about how he could best salvage their situation. Harry gave a brief nod.

"Okay, well, we can deal with that, right?"

"Indeed? Tell me, Harry, I am all ears for your words of wisdom."

"Quit the sarcasm, Severus," he said. "I just thought that, if you're worried about what people may think, we could do the lessons differently. We could have them at Sirius' place, maybe have Remus chaperone or have Hermione take part, and – well – it'd be more like an 'official' lesson then, right? Hard for people to see anything dodgy with that."

"Do you see nothing else wrong aside from the inconvenience of a change of setting?" Severus rolled his eyes. "You are as short-sighted as your father. He could only look at the immediate future, too, at least until it directly concerned _his_ future."

It was difficult to ignore the jibe about his father. He knew Sirius well enough to recognise his flaws, flaws that were shared with his father, and he saw – from his visions – just what his father had done and potentially allowed. There was no denying that his father was a man of both virtues and vices, so that he couldn't argue too much against Severus, but it was always frustrating when Severus pretended not to see him as his own person. He wondered whether it was intentional on Severus' part, as an attempt to alienate him.

"You think I'm not thinking about _your_ future?" Harry asked.

Harry shook his head, as he felt his heart race in frustration. The implication that he was acting out of self-interest, too naïve about the truth to the situation, hung heavy in the air and made him wish that he had said nothing at all. He reached out for the car keys and tossed them over to Severus, as he prepared to get up in search of his shoes, but Severus – sensing that Harry was about to end their discussion, stood up and took a hold of Harry's arm.

They stood together awkwardly. Harry's chest heaved with heavy breaths, as he tried to break free of Severus' hold, but the older man gripped tightly and refused to let him go. He felt a bruise form underneath his blazer and shirt, so that he almost felt afraid, and – with a strong push – Severus shoved him backwards until he fell back against the sofa. It took him a while to orientate himself. He had barely pulled himself back into a sitting position, before Severus was sat opposite him with a dark glare and coldly said:

"I think that this is a complicated matter."

"Yeah, well, that's why we need to talk about it, right?"

"Harry, I must be brutally honest with you," said Severus. "I have never viewed you as anything more than a friend. That is not a slight upon your person, but merely that I have never viewed _any_ pupil of mine in such a light. It is safe to say that I would rather resign than ever abuse my position of trust in such a way. Does that mean that such feelings are impossible? I cannot safely say. I will simply say that are not possible for now."

"I don't – I don't _get_ it. I mean I _do_ , but I -!" Harry shook his head and gave a sad smile. "I can get that you would never date a student; I respect that, because it would be pretty weird and wrong on many levels. I just don't get how you can say it's not possible now, like it could be possible in the future. Like . . . feelings don't just grow like that, do they?"

"If you mean to say that I can not _force_ an emotion, you are correct. You are under the impression that feelings are fixed and definable things, as if they cannot be repressed or controlled, and – perhaps – that is why you view such a relationship as impossible. It would explain why you feel such private lessons would be safe, as well as how you have come to accept the 'fact' of my disinterest so easily. I will not lead you on, nor will I discuss the possibilities at length while you are still in my care, but feelings are never so simple."

Severus paused to purse his lips and give a long sigh. It took only a wave of his wand to remove the plate of sandwiches, as he looked to Harry with an indescribable expression, something that contained a mixture of emotion that he never once thought possible. He felt as if he were being analysed; Severus locked his eyes upon him, while he sat stoically in absolute silence, and soon he let out a heavy exhale of breath unlike any other.

"I have never looked at you in such a way," he said.

"I already said that I can understand that," muttered Harry. "It's pretty –"

"It does not mean I could not consider it _in future_. I have not been one for relationships, but I admit that there is something about the prospect that intrigues me. Let us be sensible about matters; if you still feel this way when you turn eighteen, we can talk more then."

"You – you're kidding, right? I never actually expected you to feel anything _back_. I just thought I needed to tell you, so you wouldn't be caught out, you know? It didn't feel right for you to see how I felt that way . . . I didn't want you to feel awkward or something. So is this an age thing? You'd just be more comfortable once I turn eighteen?"

"Let us get one thing straight, Harry: _I do not feel the 'same way' back_. If you dare so much to suggest otherwise, our lessons and friendship are over. I merely mean to say that I _could_ feel a _similar_ way in future, but not with conditions as they stand. If you were to still feel the same way at the age of eighteen, it would indicate this is not just a passing crush or phase, but – more than that – we would no longer be teacher and pupil. No breach of trust would occur."

Harry looked down at his hands. There was a lot that Severus wasn't saying to him; he could picture such a discussion now, as it would inevitably contain his parents and their age difference, and he half expected a rejection. It would be kinder to reject him now, rather than to wait so long, and perhaps that meant Severus was open to the idea of something more beginning between them, but – on the other hand – Harry didn't want to get his hopes up. There was a lot at stake, and so much that needed to be considered.

"Do I still get lessons in the meantime?"

Severus smirked. It was a relief to see him amused, but they were something close to equals and outside of the school environment. A romantic relationship would change everything; they needed to consider how Sirius would react, just as whether their ideas of the future were compatible, and even what might happen in the long term. He couldn't really picture Severus as a father, but – then again – he hadn't really considered what _any_ of this would mean, because he never considered it even possible. He felt himself flush a deep red, as his mouth ran dry and his heart raced in his chest, and luckily Severus broke the silence.

"I think that can be arranged," said Severus.

The older man stood up and took his keys from the table. The clatter of metal upon metal woke Harry up from his trance, as he watched Severus wander across to the doorway, and he realised that the conversation was at an end. He gave a weak smile, still nervous and unsure about what would happen next, and pulled himself slowly to his feet, as he felt a little vulnerable before someone that literally knew his deepest secret. There was a cold draught as Severus opened the door and said firmly:

"Come, it is time you went home."

Harry obeyed with a smile.


	16. Chapter 16

**Part Four**  
 **Chapter Sixteen**

' _Look, I_ know _my godson! You're being ridiculous.'_

' _You're letting old grudges get the better of you, Sirius,'_ said Molly. _'Harry isn't a boy any longer; he's a young man. I'm not saying that anything will come of it, but simply that you can't deny there's some feeling there. It's not worth getting het up about.'_

' _I'm not getting 'het up'! I just don't want old Snivellus grooming Harry; it's indecent and creepy, and frankly he deserves better than some greasy old man. He's been living here for the past year; don't you think I don't know him better than anyone? Harry needs a girl like Ginny or a guy like Blaise. He deserves better than a Slytherin Death Eater twice his age.'_

' _Have you even asked Severus about this?'_ Bill asked. _'I don't think he sees it quite as a "date". I ran into him in the hall the other day, stuck talking to Harry and Dudley, and it sounded like they were just planning on getting to know each other better, that's all.'_

' _Exactly, like a damned date. Letting a predator like that –'_

' _Enough. That's crossing a line and you know it.'_

 _Sirius gave a huff of breath._

' _I just don't_ trust _him.'_

* * *

"Good to see you, Harry!"

Harry jumped in surprise, as someone Apparated before him. He saw the crop of red hair before anything else, messy and wild like they had just stepped out of the wind, and the freckles across that familiar face almost matched completely in colour. Fred was quite shorter and stockier compared to his brothers, but he was still full of life and energy. The effort he put into his passion of invention was admirable beyond all else, enough that he mastered most basic magical techniques before the rest of them learned to so much as wield a wand.

It always made Harry smile to see him; there was nothing as inspiring as the Weasley twins, and Ginny herself often admitted that it was easy to believe anything was possible around them, so that 'failure' often felt like an abstract concept. Fred – as he hopped from foot to foot – scratched at his large nose and beamed brightly, before he adjusted the wizarding robes he wore and looked around Diagon Alley with his hand held over his eyes. It wasn't long before he waved wildly to someone, only for Harry to eventually see Angelina run over with a few shopping bags and a wide grin upon her face. Fred pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Stopping by the shop, are you?"

"Discount for our favourite patron," chirped another voice.

George quickly Apparated next to his brother and future sister-in-law, where Ron gave a little groan of frustration and Hermione a soft chuckle, and then turned to give the three of them a mock salute and a smile brighter than his twin. It was nice to see them, especially as they had plenty of time during the summer and since graduation, although – being ever the pranksters and teasing tricksters – they were quick to remind them that studies and training would keep them busy when the summer ended. Ron was always less than pleased to hear that.

"Why don't I get a discount?" Ron asked.

"You do," said George. "You get to pay twelve percent extra for every complaint."

"Don't worry," added Fred. "We'll pay you twelve percent less when you come work for us, but don't tell Mum that, okay? She thinks her little Ronny is going to finish university. We have a pool going on; Hermione thinks you'll graduate, but we think that's five galleons down the drain. Say, what're you guys here for, anyway?"

Hermione lifted up a shopping bag, one very similar to Angelina's, and showed them the logo of _Flourish and Blotts_ quite proudly. It had taken them nearly an hour for her to find and purchase all the books she needed, unable to fully decide on which of the wizarding books would complement her muggle degree best, and Ron – growing somewhat bored – accidentally set fire to one book with a miscast spell. They were forced to wait outside after that. Harry still felt a sting in his cheeks from the cold, as well as soreness to his step.

"University starts at the beginning of October," said Hermione proudly.

"Yeah, but it's still only August," muttered Ron. "I still haven't gotten half my books; don't see how you'll even need most of those anyway, what with it being a muggle uni and all. That stuff must have cost you a bloody fortune. What's the point?"

"Well, Draco's parents disapproved of our relationship, so they stopped paying for his private lessons. We've decided to split costs and pay for a private tutor together, which has been wonderful so far! I've learned more in a few weeks of lessons than an entire _year_ of tutor recommended these books to me, as they supposedly complement my Law degree perfectly, and it will help with a Ministry career."

"Sounds like a good plan, Hermione," said Angelina. "I've been getting books on Quidditch, personally. Absolutely fascinating! I've done nothing but practise since I figured out how to use a broom; I thought a year wasn't enough to compete in the big leagues, but everyone's in the same boat. Got me a position already! Stick at it, alright? It's worth chasing your dream."

"So you're just here running errands?" George asked.

"Boring," said Fred. "Very boring!"

Ron laughed a little, as Fred gave a look of disgust towards the books and George feigned falling into a sleep, and a stray passer-by – an older witch with several children – rolled her eyes and muttered about how they were a bad influence. The streets were busy today, mostly with younger students celebrating the end of the school year and adults enjoying the weather, because sunshine was sunshine even in blisteringly cold winds. It was then that Ron nudged him in the ribcage and gave his brothers a wink, even as Harry gave a sigh in turn.

"Well, Harry's got some sort of mystery date," said Ron.

There was the sound of 'ooh' and 'ah' from George and Angelina, while Fred at once jumped beside Harry to wrap an arm around his shoulder, and soon he found himself led away from Hermione and Ron over to the side of an old building. It was a shop still up for let, probably an old business that failed when magic did, and was allowed to fall into disrepair since, only it added an otherwise gloomy air to a lovely street. He scratched at his neck and felt nervous with so much attention on him, especially as the 'date' would lead to inevitable questions, all of which he was in no real mood to answer. It wasn't a 'secret' relationship, but it was close.

"Well, well! Now that is interesting," added Fred.

"Look, I promise him that I wouldn't –"

"Oh, so it's a him! Interesting!"

Harry spluttered and tried to collect his thoughts. He looked to Ron and Hermione, but they simply looked anywhere other than at him, and he was left alone to try and forge a sensible thought that didn't sound too much like an excuse. It was lucky that he spotted Severus lingering by the wall at the far end of the alley, before he caught Harry's eye and disappeared inside, as if he hadn't been purposely loitering to catch his attention. Harry shrugged away from Fred and raised his hands defensively to keep him at bay.

"Er, I have to dash," said Harry. "Catch you all later?"

He managed to escape his friends relatively easily, although George let out a catcall and Fred shouted some inappropriate versions of 'good luck', and made his way through the end of the alley and into the _Leaky Cauldron_. The establishment was pretty much the same as always; Tom stood at the bar, whilst Hannah scuttled backwards and forth, and there was a noise in the air from the constant chatter of the customers.

Severus sat in a far corner of the shabby and ramshackle pub. There was a lot that needed replacing or fixing, which Hannah insisted would happen once she took over, but Harry was sceptical that even the most caring of landlords could make it seem an appealing place. He wondered whether the upstairs was as dingy and hidden in shadows, as he disliked the idea of Severus staying in something like squalor, but he doubted that Severus would have any complaints no matter what the private rooms were like. Harry gave a warm smile.

It took a moment to make his way across the pub; he sat opposite Severus and noted that the older man was dressed in smart wizarding clothes, in a shade of green that suited him well and made him a little less pale than the black. He felt quite underdressed in just jeans and an old t-shirt of Dudley's, but he never expected this to be a proper 'date'. Severus raised a hand to Tom, who quickly came over and put a glass of what looked like brandy in front of him.

"Should I be drinking this?" Harry asked.

"You are of legal age, are you not?"

Harry took a sip, but felt a little repulsed by the taste. He tried to hide the grimace, as he wanted to make a good impression, but Severus saw and simply quirked an eyebrow in response, as if he found such a reaction highly questionable. Harry resisted the urge to spit the drink back into the glass, where he instead swallowed fast and watched as Severus gave a subtle smirk at the sight. Tom gave a sigh and took the glass away.

"So you managed to get away from your friends," observed Severus.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah." Harry smiled as Tom brought over a butterbeer. "I didn't think they served these here. Er, thanks, by the way. These have to be my absolute favourites; I don't know why, but they just kind of feel like 'home', you know?"

"Not entirely, but I suppose we all have our individual comfort foods. I used to have a proclivity for firewhiskey before the fall of magic; I still rather enjoy the taste, but there is very much the association of my younger years and problems that came with it. In the 'other world', it was a drink you enjoyed often with your friends. It is possible you are reminded of the magical world through that. I am not surprised that you enjoy it."

"Yeah, I guess you could be right." Harry smiled, as he took a sip. "They don't taste as good as the ones we had in Hogsmeade, though. Oh, that reminds me! I'm so sorry I'm a bit late! I couldn't get away from Hermione and Ron, as they're spending the summer with us, plus then Dudley came over, too . . . it's been hectic, to say the least."

"I quite understand. Graduation must be quite exciting."

"Try 'terrifying' and you may be right."

Severus gave a subtle smirk, as he likely knew the problems that Harry faced. He looked down in embarrassment at his drink, unable to quite look Severus in the eyes, and he wondered whether the older man had everything planned in his teenage years, too. It was difficult to see everyone _know_ what they were doing with their future, while he was stuck in a limbo and unable to make any real decisions. It was too late to go to university, but there were still very few jobs that he qualified to do. He chose to change topic:

"Er, so did you sell your flat?"

There was a moment of silence. It was enough that Harry could almost make out the conversation at a neighbouring table, where a middle-aged couple were discussing their child's new year at Hogwarts, while something exploded from a backroom. The sounds of life overall were almost absorbing, a reminder that there was a world outside of their table, and he wondered how they looked to everyone else. Severus gave a sigh and sipped his drink.

"It sold last week," said Severus.

"That's good, right?" Harry smiled. "I heard teachers at Hogwarts get accommodation free, although Professor McGonagall said she used to stay in the village, at least when her husband was alive. You figured out where you'll be staying yet?"

"I will stay within Hogwarts during term time, but Spinner's End during the holidays. A lot of money is being spent on a room here at the moment; Albus has insisted on keeping this muggle school open, which means that the wizarding teachers have been assigned with helping to hire their replacements. The candidates for the chemistry position leave me fearing for the future of the human race. I simply pray that potions shall be easier."

"Seriously? Potions? Don't you want – er – the DADA position?"

The smile that graced Severus' lips was almost frightening; it pulled up in a way that made it look almost sadistic, while it emphasised lines that Harry never noticed before, and his eyes took on a dark narrowed look. It was enough to worry Harry, as he knew that some sort of invisible line had been crossed, and he wondered what he could have possibly said to offend Severus. Luckily, he simply drew in a deep hiss of breath, before he allowed his hands to steeple around his glass, as if he sought for some form of distraction.

"With my past, Albus thinks it unwise," said Severus.

"That doesn't seem fair, does it?" Harry took another sip. "I mean, I get that you haven't had the same chances to prove your loyalty, but it's not as though you went around doing anything bad either, right? You worked for him for seventeen years now!"

"I have, but there was no magic to 'tempt' me. The Dark Lord died, so my loyalty was hardly 'tested', whilst most of the Death Eaters went underground . . . it is difficult to prove a negative, Harry. You forget I mastered occlumency at a young age, as such I could easily hide my associates and activities, and – despite my name being cleared – there are many that do not trust me. There are also many Death Eaters that have still evaded capture."

"So what? He thinks you'll up and join them on a whim? You spent so long trying to prove yourself in that other world, so that even when you tried to leave you couldn't . . . you _killed_ for him . . . you _sacrificed_ for the cause . . . you're telling me that nothing's that different here, that you're still treated the same way? It's just so wrong! No matter what –"

"No matter what, it seems this is my lot." Severus cast a dark look to the shadows. "I have made peace with my past, but – should we pursue this – you must be prepared that others will judge you for your association with me. That is to say nothing of other matters."

"You mean like the age difference and stuff?"

"And 'stuff', yes," said Severus.

The silence between them was rather awkward. He knew that Severus was right, but there was something rather overwhelming about considering all the downsides to a relationship, at least before it had even started. It was if they were resigned to failure. There was no way that his family and friends would take it well, but that was to say nothing of Severus' friends in turn, who might equally object, and that wasn't even considering other issues.

It was then that he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, but he ignored it to look at Severus and try to listen to him properly. He didn't just want to 'hear' what he said, but to take it in fully, because this wasn't just his future at stake; he knew that Severus wasn't pointing out the problems to be cruel, but only so that Harry could go into the relationship aware of everything and able to make an informed decision. It was true that most of the couples in the pub were of similar ages, probably similar backgrounds and personalities, but just because that was what was 'normal' didn't make it 'right', at least not for everyone.

They sat together quietly, until Severus stretched out his leg. It brushed against Harry's accidentally, which caused a blush to brighten his face, until he pulled his leg back and apologised in a rather sincere manner. They felt comfortable together, even with the noise around them and bad drinks on the table, and even the scent of alcohol in the air and dust on the tables wasn't enough to ruin what potentially lay between them. He trusted Severus with his life, even more now he knew that – somewhere – Severus was willing to die for him.

"You must be aware of our age difference," said Severus.

"With how long wizards live -?" Harry shrugged. "I doubt it's that big a deal. I mean it was for Remus in the other world, but I was always under the impression that he was grabbing for any excuse, because he was too scared of being with anybody. No one in the wizarding community seems to blink at someone being gay, either; I think our biggest problems were kind of solved by communication, like we both see each other as – well – _people_."

"Indeed, but you forget that I held a deep affection for your mother. Does this genuinely not bother you in the least? I will admit that it was a 'love' that was closer to a crush, but it was a love that could have developed into something more. You must know this."

"Yeah, Remus once told me that she would have dated you, if it hadn't been for the fact you were into the Dark Arts." Harry bit his lip until the pain stopped him. "Does it bother me? I won't lie, because you wouldn't lie to me. It bothers me a bit, but nothing happened between you two and it just wasn't meant to be. Isn't this . . . different?"

"I can assure you that my interest is most different, yes."

There was no elaboration. It irked Harry, as this was perhaps the most important obstacle in their relationship for them to overcome. He realised that – with such age differences – often the older party would know or have some connection to the younger party's parents, especially as it seemed to be how most people in those relationships met, at least according to the shows he watched and the books he read. It was important to know how big an issue this could be for them and whether they could overcome it.

"Are you going to tell me what your feeling are?"

"No, I am not," said Severus. "I wish to make sure that you know _your_ feelings, at least before we progress any further. You could pursue anyone that you wish, but instead you have spent the last year waiting to pursue me. I am far from attractive, Harry."

"Hey, if you won't tell me how _you_ feel, I retain the right to refuse to boost your ego," teased Harry. "Look, obviously I find you attractive, else I wouldn't be 'pursuing' this, right? We have a _lot_ to discuss, more than I realised, but the point is that I _want_ to discuss it, because I _want_ to see where this can go. We have all summer to work this out, don't we?"

"Ah, such as whether our lives can be compatible? You have always wanted a family, but it is most difficult for two wizards to bear forth a biological child even with a surrogate, and adoption is a process that could take years upon years. A Death Eater would not be _allowed_ to adopt either, whilst many would not attend your wedding knowing whom you wed. Do you realise what your friends will think of this . . . of us?"

Harry shrugged and looked away. It was a valid question, but a part of him just wanted a relationship that was theirs alone, without worry of any outside interference. He knew it was a naïve thought, as anything they chose would affect others; already, Tom watched them from the bar with a curiously raised eyebrow, while a few teenagers pointed and laughed from a far corner. Harry scratched at his scar, hidden beneath his fringe, as he looked back to Severus and gave a warm smile in a need to reassure the both of them.

"Good job that I'm not dating my friends, then," said Harry.

Severus let out a sound almost like a laugh, although there was something stern to his eyes, as if he were still trying to discern whether this was for the best. They sat in a more companionable silence, as they watched each other with a curiosity that hadn't been felt before, and Harry licked his lips nervously. He didn't want to be the one to speak first, especially when he wasn't sure how Severus felt and what would happen next.

"There is a great possibility that this will not work," said Severus.

"So there's a slim chance it can work," added Harry.

Severus gave something close to a smile.

"Indeed, there may well be."


End file.
